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THE 

SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 


BY 


HENRY  SMITH  WILLIAMS,  M.D.,  LL.D. 

AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  STORY  OF  NINETEENTH-CENTURY  SCIENCK  " 

**A   HISTORY  OF   SCIENCE"   ETC. 


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HARPER  &-   BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 
NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 


2883 


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Copyright,  igog,  by  Henry  Smith  Williams 


All  rights  reserved 


Co 

F.  W.  W. 

VOTARY    AND    EXEMPLAR    OF    THE    HIGH    ART    OF    RIGHT- 
LIVING;    MY    LIFE-LONG    ASSOCIATE    AND   GRACIOUS 
MONITOR    IN    THE    PRACTICAL   INVESTIGATION 
OF    THE     PROBLEM     OF    HAPPINESS 


CONTENTS 


PART     I.— THE   PROBLEM    OF   HAPPINESS   AND    ITS 
PHYSICAL  ASPECTS. 

pac;k 

Chapter  I. — The  Problem  of  Happiness  ...  3 

Chapter      II. — Physical  Needs 19 

Chapter    III. — Sound  Bodies 39 

Chapter     IV. — How   to   Sleep 59 


PART   II.— MENTAL  ASPECTS   OF  THE   PROBLEM 
OF  HAPPINESS. 

Chapter      V. — How  to  See  and  Remember  .        .        -83 

Chapter     VI. — How  to  Think loi 

Chapter   VII. — The  Will  and  The  Way     .        .        .121 
Chapter  VIII. — Self  Knowledge 133 


PART  III.— SOCIAL    ASPECTS    OF   THE    PROBLEM    OF 
HAPPINESS. 


Chapter     IX. — How  to  Work 
Chapter      X. — Youth   versus    Age.     . 

Chapter  XI. — Gold  Versus  Ideals     . 

Chapter  XII. — Vocation  Versus  Avocation 


•  147 

•  165 
.  183 

•  193 


PART  IV.— MORAL   ASPECTS    OF  THE   PROBLEM   OF 
HAPPINESS. 


Chapter  XIII.- 

—Life   Companionship 

.  211 

Chapter  XIV.- 

—The  Coming  Generation     . 

.  229 

Chapter    XV.- 

—How  to  Invite  Happiness    . 

.  241 

Chapter  XVI.- 

—How  TO  Die    .... 

•  255 

Appendix 

•  273 

Index 

•  329 

THE  SCIENCE    OF   HAPPINESS 


Part   I 

THE  PROBLEM  OF  HAPPINESS  AND   ITS 
PHYSICAL  ASPECTS 


"How  singular  is  the  thing  called  pleasure,  and  how 
curiously  related  to  pain,  which  might  be  thought  to  be  the  op- 
posite of  it;  for  they  never  come  to  a  man  together,  and  yet 
he  who  pursues  either  of  them  is  generally  compelled  to  take 
the  other.  They  are  two,  and  yet  they  grow  together  out  of 
one  head  or  stem."  — Socrates   {in  Plato's  Phcedo). 


chapter  I 

THE   PROBLEM   OF   HAPPINESS 

"A  man's  happiness — to  do  the  things  proper  to  man." 

— Marcus  Aurelius. 


"  Were  a  man  to  order  his  life  by  the  rules  of  true  reason  a 
frugal  subsistence  joined  to  a  contented  mnid  would  be  for 
him  great  riches."  -Lucretius. 


I     ^ -^  _ 

THE   PROBLEM   OF   HAP5'l]^ft:SS 

THE  problem  of  happiness  is  the  problem  of 
problems.  The  problem  of  problems  did 
I  say?  Nay,  I  understate  the  case — the 
only  problem  is  the  problem  of  happiness.  For  savage 
and  for  civiHsed  man  alike;  for  hod-carrier  and  for 
psychologist ;  for  the  little  child  prattling  at  its  mother's 
knee  and  for  the  old  man  tottering  to  the  grave;  for 
blooming  maiden  and  for  ancient  beldame;  for  beast 
and  bird  and  reptile  even;  for  each  and  every  living 
thing  in  all  the  broad  expanse  of  land  and  sea  and  sky, 
— the  ever  present,  ever  insistent,  inexorable  problem 
of  happiness  is  the  dominant  motive  of  every  act. 

Back  of  every  conscious  movement  lies  the  load- 
stone of  a  desire.  Back  of  every  instinctive  motion 
of  the  lowliest  organism,  every  reflex  twitch  of  a  muscle 
of  beast  or  of  man,  is  a  chain  of  organic  impulses  lead- 
ing no  less  surely,  though  it  be  by  the  tortuous  route  of 
heredity,  to  a  primeval  desire.  And  in  the  last  analysis 
all  desires,  whatever  their  seeming  diversity  of  character, 
rriay  be  reduced  to  one:  Stated  broadly,  there  is  no 
desire  but  the  desire  for  happiness. 

Sometimes  the  association  of  motive  with  result  is 
direct  and  evident;  sometimes  it  is  remote  and  obscure, 
but  always  it  is  present  and  always  operative.  Thejvolf 
pursuing  its  quarry;  the  child  grasping  eagerly  after  a 
toy;    the  youth  pressing  his  ardent  suit  as  a  lover; 

[5] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

the  man  pursuing  the  ideal  of  his  ambition — these  are 
obviously  seekers  of  pleasure.  But  no  less  truly,  if 
less  directly  and  therefore  less  obviously,  seekers  of 
pleasure  are  the  mother  sacrificing  herself  for  her  child, 
the  patriot  risking  his  life  for  his  country,  the  devotee 
voluntarily  suffering  martyrdom. 

These  illustrations  suggest  that  the  paths  of  pleasure 
may  be  curiously  devious.  Indeed  to  casual  in- 
spection it  would  seem  that,  if  the  great  purpose  of  or- 
ganic being  is  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  then  the  great 
result  of  organic  being  is  pitiful  failure.  Every  or- 
ganic thing  is  born  to  suffer  and  to  die.  The  vast 
multitudes  of  carnivorous  creatures  that  make  up  so 
large  a  bulk  of  the  world's  population  sustain  life  only 
through  the  infliction  of  suffering  and  death.  One 
animal  preys  on  another;  man  preys  on  his  fellow  man; 
disease  lurks  around  every  corner  and  perpetually  in- 
flicts its  quota  of  misery;  and,  back  of  it  all,  that  none, 
not  even  one,  may  escape,  stands  the  dreadful  spectre. 
Death,  to  lead  his  never  ending  galaxy  of  blanched 
victims — inexorably,  pitilessly — through  the  closing  por- 
tals of  this  world.  To  talk  of  happiness  in  such  a  world 
of  strife  and  terror  and  torturing  agony  seems  but  a 
mockery. 

But  softly.  "There  .is  purpose  in  pain,  otherwise 
'twere  devilish."  The  moralist  has  long  beheved  it, 
the  biologist  can  now  explain  it.  And  that  purpose 
is — strange  paradox! — to  make  pleasure  possible.  But 
for  pain  there  could  be  no  such  thing  as  pleasure;  but 
for  suffering  there  could  be  no  happiness. 

It  needs  no  obscure  metaphysical  reasoning  to  ex- 

[6] 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   HAPPINESS 

plain  this  paradox.  We  need  but  reflect  on  the  dan- 
gers to  which  every  living  thing  is  subjected  to  realize 
that  the  creature  without  nerves  would  meet  with  in- 
cessant injuries,  which  it  would  never  learn  to  avoid, 
because  it  would  often  be  unaware  of  their  existence 
until  too  late.  The  nerveless  child  would  never  learn 
to  dread  the  fire;  it  would  play  with  flame  and  ember 
as  with  any  other  toy,  to  its  ultimate  undoing. 

Reasoning  from  analogy,  the  psychologist  assures  us 
that  the  same  thing  is  true  of  the  mental  and  moral 
worlds.  Had  there  not  been  disagreeable  obstacles 
to  overcome,  painful  experiences  by  which  to  be  taught 
and  stimulated,  the  mind  of  man  would  never  have 
developed  beyond  the  stage  of  mere  passive  sentience. 
Again  the  moralist  will  assure  us  that  without  a  per- 
sonal knowledge  of  misery  and  sorrow,  man  could 
never  have  developed  the  broad  spirit  of  altruistic  pity 
that  so  largely  determines  the  possibilities  of  civilization. 

We  need  have  no  quarrel  with  all  this  reasoning  of 
biologist,  psychologist,  and  humanitarian.  We  need 
not  for  a  moment  dispute  their  logic.  But  just  as 
little  need  we  doubt  that — however  necessary  such 
experiences  may  be  for  the  race — the  chief  hope  for 
the  individual  is  to  evade  the  harder  side  of  life  so  far 
as  he  may.  Few  men  or  women  are  better  workers 
in  the  world  because  they  suffer  from  physical  illness 
or  misfortune.  However  happy  your  environment 
enough  physical  pain  will  come  to  you,  enough  sor- 
row will  invade  your  household,  to  develop  those  al- 
truistic impulses  that  thousands  of  generations  have 
implanted   in   every   mind.     Exceptional   cases   aside, 

[7] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

you  will  be  a  far  better  citizen  if  you  are  physically, 
mentally,  and  morally  healthy,  than  you  can  hope  to  be 
if  ill  in  body  and  perpetually  harassed  in  mind  and 
spirit. 

All  personal  considerations  aside,  then,  it  is  your 
duty  to  humanity  to  cultivate  soundness  and  strength 
of  body  and  of  mind.  In  other  words,  it  is  your  duty 
to  seek  personal  happiness,  if  for  no  other  reason,  be- 
cause by  so  doing  you  will  on  the  whole  make  for  the 
happiness  of  others, — will  add  to  the  sum  total  of  hu- 
man pleasure. 

It  must  be  understood  that  the  word  "happiness" 
as  here  employed,  has  two  phases — the  active  and  the 
passive  phase.  In  the  natural  order  of  things  even  the 
happiest  being  does  not  pass  all  its  existence  in  a  delir- 
ium of  joy.  Indeed  it  is  a  law  of  mentahty  that  the 
most  intense  pleasures  are  the  most  transient.  Satiety 
is  the  safeguard  against  over-indulgence.  The  hours 
of  intense  joy  are  relatively  few,  even  if  all  were  ag- 
gregated for  a  lifetime. 

The  main  course  of  life  must  lie  at  best  along  a 
plateau,  with  here  and  there  a  mountain  peak.  If  we 
escape  in  fair  measure  the  sloughs  and  valleys  of  de- 
spond and  misery,  this  is  all  that  can  be  hoped — nay, 
all  that  is  to  be  desired.  Hence,  at  best,  a  large  part 
of  our  share  of  happiness  is  of  the  passive  character. 
To  be  "happy  in  that  we  are  not  unhappy"  is  a  very 
real  form  of  pleasure.  The  mere  cessation  of  pain 
seems  cause  for  supreme  joy  to  one  who  has  experienced 
long  periods  of  suffering. 

The  goal  at  which  the  rational  being  aims,  then,  is 

[8] 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   HAPPINESS 

the  goal  of  greatest  average  freedom  from  pain  of  mind 
and  body;  of  greatest  average  preponderance  of  the 
sense  of  well  being;  and  therefore  of  greatest  capacity 
for  usefulness  in  adding  to  the  welfare  of  humanity. 

Four  great  parallel  highways  lead  toward  this  all- 
encompassing  goal— the  highway  of  the  physical  senses, 
the  highway  of  the  intellect,  the  highway  of  social  in- 
tercourse, and  the  highway  of  moral  aspirations.  The 
man  has  attained  most  happiness  who  has  travelled  as 
far  as  his  hereditary  limitations  will  permit  on  each  of 
these  paths. 

Considered  in  this  light  it  is  evident  that  the  pur- 
suit of  happiness  differs  as  widely  as  may  be  from  the 
mere  effort  to  secure  sensual  pleasure.  Such  an  effort, 
considered  as  a  sole  aim  in  life,  would  be  grasping 
after  Dead  Sea  fruit  that  must  surely  turn  to  ashes. 
Nay  worse,  the  goddess  of  pleasure,  thus  courted,  has 
a  face  as  baleful  as  a  Gorgon's,  turning  the  very  soul 
of  her  wooer  to  stone. 

The  pursuit  of  happiness,  then,  is  not  an  endeavor 
that  may  be  left  to  unguided  instinct.  Indeed,  no- 
where else  in  the  entire  field  of  human  action — which 
after  all  scarcely  exceeds  the  bounds  of  the  present 
subject— could  there  be  greater  need  of  counsel,  bet- 
ter opportunity  for  advice,  fairer  field  for  the  applica- 
tion of  that  organized  knowledge  which  we  term  science. 
Yet  in  our  modem  world  the  subject  is  treated  with 
singular  reticence.  We  are  still  not  quite  emerged  from 
the  cloud  of  that  medieval  philosophy  which  deplored 
worldly  pleasure  as  positively  reprehensible,  focusing 
all   its   aspirations   on   the   hoped-for  pleasures   of  a 

[9] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

future  life.  Hence,  while  all  the  world  makes  the  pur- 
suit of  happiness  a  prime  object,  there  still  persists  a 
tendency  to  look  askance  at  the  avowed  pleasure- 
seeker. 

No  better  illustration  of  this  could  be  asked  than 
the  interpretation  that  has  been  put  in  modern  times 
upon  the  more  candid  philosophies  of  the  old  Greeks. 
There  lived  back  at  the  beginning  of  the  third  cen- 
tury B.C.,  a  wise  and  pure  philosopher  named  Epicurus, 
who  practised,  so  far  as  we  can  learn,  a  somewhat 
ascetic  method  of  life  as  regards  bodily  pleasures.  He 
gathered  about  him  in  his  famous  Gardens,  a  school 
of  disciples,  and  taught  them  so  wisely  and  so  well 
that  it  was  claimed  throughout  antiquity  that  no  man 
or  woman — for  the  school  had  female  votaries — that 
once  entered  the  ranks  ever  became  an  apostate. 

One  of  his  maxims  was  this:  "Irresistible  power 
and  great  wealth  may  up  to  a  certain  point  give  us 
security,  so  far  as  men  are  concerned ;  but  the  security 
of  men  in  general  depends  upon  the  tranquillity  of  their 
souls  and  their  freedom  from  ambition." 

Again  he  says:  ''The  just  man  is  the  freest  of  all 
men  from  disquietude,  but  the  unjust  man  is  a  perpetual 
prey  to  it." 

Yet  again:    "Of  all  the  things  which  wisdom  pro 
vides  for  the  happiness  of  a  whole  life,  by  far  the  most 
important  is  the  acquisition  of  friendship." 

As  the  founder  of  the  school  was  dying  of  a  painful 
and  lingering  illness,  he  sought  consolation  amidst  his 
sufferings,  so  it  is  testified,  in  musing  on  the  happy 
hours  that  he  had  spent  in  reasoning  on  the  questions 

[lol 


THE   PROBLEM   OF   HAPPINESS 

of  philosophy.  He  had  striven  to  know  in  full  measure 
the  joys  of  living,  but  it  had  been  his  explicit  avowal 
that  *'we  cannot  live  pleasantly  without  living  pru- 
dently and  honorably  and  justly;  for  virtues  are  con- 
note with  living  agreeably,  and  living  agreeably  is 
inseparable  from  the  virtues." 

Yet  by  a  cruel,  though  not  unusual,  perversion  of 
the  verdicts  of  history,  the  name  of  this  philosopher 
has  come  to  be  a  synonym  for  the  pursuit  of  sensual 
pleasures.  The  word  "epicure"  and  its  allies  in  all 
the  modern  languages  of  Europe,  connotes  a  peculiar 
regard  for  the  pleasures  of  the  palate.  Yet  it  is  on 
record  that  Epicurus  himself  and  his  immediate  fol- 
lowers lived  habitually  on  the  most  abstemious  diet, 
the  staples  of  which  were  water  and  barley  bread. 
Wine  was  the  habitual  drink  of  the  Greeks  of  that  day, 
and  was  so  little  a  luxury  that  ten  gallons  cost  about 
the  equivalent  of  six  cents;  yet  the  disciples  of  Epicurus 
considered  a  few  ounces  a  day  a  sufficiency  of  this  uni- 
versal beverage.  To  their  contemporaries,  their  moder- 
ation must  have  seemed  actual  asceticism.  And  as  to 
luxurious  foods,  it  is  recorded  that  Epicurus  himself, 
writing  to  a  friend,  said,  "Send  me  a  Cytherean  cheese, 
that  if  I  wish  to  have  a  feast  I  may  have  the  means." 
Scarcely  an  epicurean  banquet  that,  in  the  modern  sense. 

Such  misjudgment  as  this  has  more  than  once  been 
the  penalty  of  frankness.  An  ever  critical  world  seizes 
upon  the  most  tangible  feature  of  a  half  understood 
philosophy,  and,  stubborn  as  always  in  its  verdicts, 
refuses  to  render  justice.  So  epicureanism  has  been 
looked  at  askance.     Yet,  according  to  a  truer  analysis, 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

the  philosophy  of  Epicurus  differed  not  a  jot  in  its 
motives  from  every  other  philosophy.  All  philosophical 
systems  seek  the  road  to  happiness.  If  some  modern 
philosophers  deplore  the  ideals  of  epicureanism,  it  is 
not  the  actual  ideal,  but  a  false  conception  of  that 
ideal,  which  they  deprecate. 

In  this  new  age  of  science,  it  would  seem  that  the 
time  had  come  to  put  aside  something  of  the  dog- 
matic prudery  of  the  Middle  Ages,  freely  acknowl- 
edging that  the  old  Greek  had  keen  insight  when  he 
declared  that,  rightly  considered,  pleasure  is,  in  the  last 
analysis,  the  only  good ;  and  urging  that  such  acknowl- 
edgment goes  hand  in  hand  with  the  fullest  aims  of 
idealism  in  the  mental,  the  social,  and  the  moral  worlds. 

Let  us  learn  to  realize  that  a  healthful  exercise  of 
all  normal  bodily  functions  is  in  the  highest  degree 
moral.  What  makes  for  bodily  health  makes  also  for 
spiritual  health — and  a  healthy  organism  would  seem 
to  be  the  great  specific  ideal  of  Nature.  Bodily  health 
will  make  for  clearer  thinking,  a  better  appreciation 
and  practise  of  justice  toward  our  fellow  men,  a  kindlier 
philosophy  of  living — all  of  them  steps  toward  the  goal 
of  happiness.  Therefore,  a  well-rounded  personality, 
physical,  mental,  social,  and  moral,  is  the  enviable 
personahty. 

Consider  for  a  moment  how  woefully  most  of  us  fall 
short  of  this  ideal,  even  as  to  the  most  elementary 
functions: 

It  is  a  daily  paradox  that  most  of  us  never  learn  to 
perform  the  commonest  bodily  functions  even  ap- 
proximately as  well  as  we  might.     We  take  air  into  our 

[12] 


THE   PROBLEM   OF  HAPPINESS 

lungs  about  25,000  times  each  day  of  our  lives,  yet 
comparatively  few  persons  ever  learn  to  breathe  to  best 
advantage,  using  all  sets  of  respiratory  muscles,  and 
changing  the  air  frequently  in  all  the  air  sacs  even  to 
the  very  tips  of  their  lungs.  Yet  we  know  that  the 
penalty  of  our  slovenly  breathing  is  very  likely  to  be 
consumption.  The  tubercle  bacilli  find  lodgment  in 
the  stagnant  air  passages,  and  are  allowed  to  develop 
unmolested,  where  proper  breathing  might  often  throw 
them  out  or  enable  the  tissues  to  resist  them. 

Eating  is  another  perennial  function.  But  how  few 
people  ever  learn  when  to  eat,  what  to  eat,  and  how 
much  to  eat  for  their  own  advantage.  The  great 
tendency  here  is  to  overindulgence.  It  may  be  ques- 
tioned whether  one  person  in  a  hundred  eats  only  as 
much  food  as  he  needs,  to  say  nothing  of  the  digestible 
quality  of  the  food  taken.  Yet  every  indigestible 
particle  of  food  taken  into  the  stomach,  and  every 
particle  of  any  kind  in  excess  of  what  is  needed  insures 
just  so  much  unnecessary  wear  and  tear  on  the  organ- 
ism. The  penalty  may  or  may  not  be  manifest  in  a 
local  dyspepsia,  but  in  either  case  there  is  sure  to  be 
a  telling  effect  on  the  system  as  a  whole. 

The  highest  function  of  all,  as  manifested  in  con- 
sciousness, is  incessantly  operative  during  all  our  wak- 
ing hours.  We  may  momentarily  stop  breathing;  for 
much  longer  periods  we  may  abstain  from  eating; 
but  while  we  are  awake  we  cannot  even  for  an  instant 
stop  thinking,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  even 
when  we  sleep  the  same  mental  processes,  modified 
only  in  degree,  continue  in  operation. 

[13] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

Yet  how  many  minds  come  to  be  the  "cold  clear 
logic  engines"  that  Huxley  says  human  minds  should 
be?  How  many  persons  have  fairly  good  habits  of 
thinking  even  within  the  range  of  their  ordinary 
capacity  ? 

Thackeray  tells  us  somewhere  that  his  mind  was 
always  active  in  some  definite  direction.  Whether 
he  walked  or  sat  or  what  not,  though  he  might  seem 
to  be  musing,  he  was  never  musing  aimlessly.  Some 
definite  problem  was  always  before  his  mind's  eye. 
At  the  end  of  an  hour  or  a  day  he  could  tell  what  he  had 
been  thinking  of  during  that  hour  or  that  day.  How 
many  people  can  say  as  much  ? 

Emerson,  we  are  told,  went  daily  to  walk  in  the  woods, 
rambling  aimlessly,  or  taking  physical  leisure  in  what- 
ever way  for  the  moment  pleased  him.  But  he  never 
liked  to  return  till  he  had  garnered  some  definite  new 
thought,  much  as  some  other  wanderer  might  pluck 
a  flower.  He  too  loved  the  flowers  and  the  birds  and 
trees  and  all  of  Nature ;  but  he  beheld  them  all  with  the 
mental  vision  rather  than  the  physical;  they  were  parts 
of  a  plan,  each  one  co-ordinate  with  all  the  rest.  They 
gave  a  penumbral  setting  to  his  thoughts,  and  out  of 
this  setting  there  shone  at  last,  brighter  by  contrast,  a 
new  idea. 

How  many  people,  even  of  intellectual  power,  have 
ever  discovered  such  a  star  of  first  magnitude  as  that  ? 
How  many  have  their  old  ideas  so  clearly  understood 
and  definitely  classified  that  they  could  be  sure  to  recog- 
nise a  new  idea  as  such  if  they  should  chance  upon  one  ? 
How  many  have  any  ideas  at  all  or  any  pronounced 

[14] 


THE   PROBLEM   OF  HAPPINESS 

opinions  that  are  not  founded  in  a  fetich?  Yet  time 
out  of  mind  man  has  boasted  that  he  is  the  one  think- 
ing animal. 

We  know  that  the  prizes  for  clear  thinking  are  mul- 
tiform; that  they  include,  in  fact,  almost  all  the  good 
and  desirable  things  in  the  world.  We  know  that  the 
penalty  for  slovenly  thinking  is  mental  mediocrity,  lack 
of  scholarship,  failure  in  all  that  is  best  in  life.  Yet  we 
live  on  in  a  perpetual  mental  twilight,  never  acquiring 
the  habits  of  thinking  that  could  dissipate  the  haze  and 
give  us  a  clear  perspective.  In  moments  of  enthusiasm, 
fitful  and  infrequent,  we  rise  toward  the  light,  only  to 
settle  back  anon  into  the  mists  of  vague,  ambiguous, 
unfruitful  reverie.  At  night  we  sleep  and  assume  that 
our  minds  are  inactive,  yet  for  the  most  part,  the  record 
of  the  night  is  scarcely  more  a  blank  when  morning 
comes  than  is  the  mental  record  of  the  day  that  preceded 
it.  We  assume  that  we  are  awake  and  mentally  active 
during  the  day;  but  where  is  the  record  of  the  day's 
thoughts  ?  In  truth,  we  were  not  so  wide  awake  as  we 
supposed.  Thoreau's  cynical  comment  that  he  had 
never  seen  a  man  who  was  more  than  half  awake, 
is  justified  in  our  own  experience. 

Yet  Thoreau  was  the  friend  of  Emerson  and  Haw- 
thorne and  Lowell  and  the  rest  of  the  brilliant  New 
England  coterie.  Were  they  too  only  half  awake? 
If  so,  there  would  seem  but  little  hope  for  the  ordinary 
mortal. 

Still  it  is  always  worth  while  to  do  one's  best.  The 
comparative  degree  of  thinking  is  not  to  be  scorned, 
even  if  the  superlative  is  plainly  out  of  reach.     Despite 

[is] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

the  maxim,  practise  does  not,  and  perhaps  cannot 
make  perfect,  but  it  can  surely  do  something  toward  it, 
and  any  change  from  that  positive  degree  of  vagueness 
in  which  most  minds  rest  cannot  but  be  an  improvement. 
It  is  a  hopeful  sign  that  the  world  is  awakening  to  an 
appreciation  of  the  interdependence  of  mind  and  body. 
Our  generation  has  seen  a  tremendous  revival  of  the  old 
Greek  interest  in  athletics.  The  muscular  system, 
so  generally  neglected  fifty  years  ago,  now  comes  in 
for  a  fair  share  of  attention  in  our  educational  curricula. 
It  is  said  that  ten  million  youth  and  men  in  America 
alone  are  receiving  some  regular  athletic  training.  The 
fact  is  tremendously,  immeasurably  important.  It 
offers  a  practical  lesson  in  the  application  of  the  science 
of  happiness  on  a  grand  scale.  But  after  all  it  is  only 
a  beginning.  We  must  learn  to  keep  up  physical 
athletics  throughout  life  and  not  merely  during  college 
days;  and  we  must  pursue  the  ideal  of  mental  and 
moral  gymnastics  with  equal  assiduity.  Then  we 
shall  see— not  the  millennium,  but  a  truly  wonderful 
generation  of  men  and  women. 

Summarising  briefly  now  the  ideas  just  suggested 
— anything  beyond  mere  suggestion  being  obviously 
impossible  here — it  is  clear  that  the  science  of  happiness 
connotes  no  necromantic  phrase  that  will  be  an  open 
sesame.  There  is  no  royal  road  to  happiness  any 
more  than  to  learning.  Indeed  this  follows  as  a  matter 
of  course,  since  the  road  to  happiness  runs  along  the 
highway  of  knowledge.  The  science  of  happiness 
must  connote  a  vast  variety  of  details  of  information. 

[i6] 


THE  PROBLEM   OF  HAPPINESS 

No  science  nowadays  is  simple ;  the  day  of  occult  formu- 
las, of  specifics,  of  magic  words  is  past.  We  travel  in 
electric  cars,  to  be  sure,  but  we  know  nothing  of  the 
potency  of  an  Aladdin's  lamp. 

Our  science  must  be  based  in  part  on  the  laws  of  the 
physiologist.  Accepting  the  dictum  that  good  health 
is  the  surest  road  to  normal  mentality,  it  must  inculcate 
rules  for  eating,  for  training  the  body,  and  for  sleeping. 

It  must  inculcate  also  the  fundamental  rules  of  the 
psychologist,  teaching  the  best  methods  of  training  the 
memory,  the  thinking  power,  the  will. 

It  must  include  data  gathered  by  the  practical  sociol- 
ogist, showing  how  the  needs  of  the  many  should  be 
paramount  to  the  desires  of  the  individual,  and  giving 
convincing  evidence  that  individual  happiness  finds 
full  fruition  only  through  the  development  of  broad 
sympathies  and  altruistic  impulses. 

Stated  otherwise,  the  science  of  happiness  must  com- 
prehend a  broad  system  of  rules  for  such  training  of 
body  and  mind  as  will  lead  to  the  best  practise  of  the 
art  of  living, — doctrines  of  a  self-confidence  that  stops 
short  of  self-illusion;  of  sentiment  without  sentimen- 
tality; of  cheerful  optimism  not  run  riot  into  visionary 
fanaticism; — in  a  word,  of  sanity  and  common  sense. 

When  the  generality  of  mankind  have  grasped  the 
essentials  of  such  a  comprehensive  science,  human  life 
as  a  whole  will  approach  nearer  to  the  ideal  condition 
which  obtained  among  the  immediate  disciples  of 
Epicurus,  whose  famous  Gardens,  according  to  a 
modern  German  commentator,  were  "a  nursery  of  fair 
conduct,  of  finest  morals,  and  of  noble  enjoyment." 

[17] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF   HAPPINESS 

Epicurus  himself  declared  that  he  who  would  well 
enough  consider  his  precepts  would  "never  be  disturbed 
by  either  sleeping  or  waking  fancies,"  but  might  "live 
like  a  god  among  men." 

In  our  skeptical  age,  we  dare  not  hope  for  so  easy 
a  road  nor  so  sure  a  goal.  Yet  in  this  same  skeptical 
age,  wonders  have  been  achieved.  Space  and  time 
have  been  rendered  in  a  sense  subject  to  man's  will 
through  the  service  of  steam  and  electricity;  plagues 
and  famines  have  been  all  but  banished  from  the  earth ; 
preventive  medicine  grapples  with  disease  as  never 
before,  while  surgery  robs  physical  injuries  of  many 
of  their  former  terrors;  and  in  the  moral  field,  en- 
lightened sentiment  assures  a  larger  measure  of  justice 
between  man  and  man  and  between  nation  and  nation 
— a  nearer  approach  to  the  ideal  of  moral  equality — 
than  was  ever  known  in  any  previous  generation. 

The  advance  of  scientific  knowledge  has  thus  raised 
the  average  level  of  human  happiness  higher  and  higher. 
It  remains  for  each  individual  to  apply  the  rules  of 
right  hving  that  are  within  his  reach.  By  so  doing, 
each  may  attain  a  large  measure  of  that  freedom  of 
body  and  spirit,  that  mingling  of  self-reliance  and  com- 
munal helpfulness,  which  the  old  Greek  characterized 
as  godlike,  and  which  we  of  a  generation  that  knows 
not  the  attributes  of  the  gods,  may  perhaps  most  fitly 
describe  as  Ideally  Human. 


[i8] 


chapter    II 

PHYSICAL    NEEDS 

"If  you  have  so  far  mastered  your  appetite  as  to  have 
brought  your  body  to  coarse  fare  and  to  be  well  contented 
with  mere  necessaries,  do  not  glory  in  your  abstemious  way 
of  living.  If  you  drink  nothing  but  water,  proclaim  not 
your  own  sobriety  on  every  occasion^  If  you  inure  your- 
self to  hardship,  do  it  for  your  own  benefit,  and  not  to  at- 
tract the  admiration  of  the  people.  Let  vainglorious  fools 
make  their  trials  as  public  as  they  can;  but  know  that  all 
aflfectations  of  this  kind  are  utterly  unworthy  of  a  philoso- 
pher." — Epictetus. 


"The  man  of  understanding  will  be  far  from  yielding  to 
brutal  or  irrational  pleasures, — but  he  will  be  always  desir- 
ous of  preserving  the  harmony  of  the  body  for  the  sake  of  the 
concord  of  the  soul."  — Plato. 

"Different  food  is  pleasant  and  nutritious  for  different 
creatures;  that  which  to  some  is  nauseous  and  bitter,  may  yet 
to  others  seem  passing  sweet;  and  the  discrepancy  is  so  great 
that  what  to  one  man  is  food,  to  another  is  rank  poison." 

— Lucretius. 


II 

PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

TURNING  now  from  generals  to  particulars, 
let  us  first  consider  an  aspect  of  the  problem 
of  happiness  that  has  to  do  with  a  properly 
nourished  body.  How  close  the  association  is,  no  one 
need  be  reminded.  It  is  within  the  experience  of 
everyone  that  hunger  is  not  consistent  with  mental 
satisfaction;  and  that  an  ill-digested  dinner  may  dis- 
turb the  equanimity  of  the  most  amiable  mind.  We 
shall  do  well,  then,  to  inquire  at  some  length  into  the 
principles  of  right  living  as  applied  to  the  taking  of 
food. 

The  general  question  of  what  to  eat  may  be  settled 
for  most  healthy  individuals  on  very  simple  common- 
sense  principles.  Individual  peculiarities  aside,  you 
are  justified  in  accepting  the  testimony  of  experience, 
in  default  of  other  argument,  as  sufficient  warrant  for 
eating  all  varieties  of  food  that  by  common  consent 
have  been  voted  wholesome.  With  this  common-sense 
induction,  the  researches  of  the  physiological  chemists 
are  in  full  accord.  So  are  the  observations  of  practical 
hygienists  and  physicians.  Dr.  Austin  Flint  (he  of  the 
elder  generation)  long  ago  declared  that  he  had  never 
known  a  person  to  become  a  faddist  regarding  diet 
without  also  becoming  a  dyspeptic.  Most  medical  men 
of  experience  will  applaud  this  verdict. 

This  of  course  does  not  apply  to  the  individual  who 

[21] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

avoids  certain  foods  because  he  has  found  that  they 
disagree  with  him.  "What  is  one  man's  food  is 
another  man's  poison"  is  a  half-truth  that  appHes  here 
and  there  with  surprising  force  to  individual  idiosyn- 
crasies. I  know  a  woman,  for  example,  who  cannot 
taste  a  strawberry  without  being  literally  poisoned. 
Even  the  small  quantity  used  as  a  flavor — say  for  ice 
cream — has  a  characteristic  and  deleterious  effect. 

But  such  exceptional  cases  as  this  only  emphasize 
the  rule  that,  generally  speaking,  what  is  wholesome  for 
one  healthy  individual  is  wholesome  for  another.  Were 
it  otherwise,  our  entire  social  world  would  be  sadly 
awry. 

Therefore,  in  specific  answer  to  the  query,  What 
shall  I  eat  ?  it  suffices  to  say,  as  a  general  proposition : 
"Eat  whatever  the  generahty  of  people  about  you 
regard  as  wholesome  food;  avoiding,  however,  any- 
thing against  which  your  own  experience  has  warned 
you  unequivocally."  Moreover,  you  will  do  well  not 
to  be  too  easily  persuaded  that  any  particular  article 
of  diet  does  not  agree  with  you.  A  large  number  of 
people — particularly  faddists  who  have  injured  their 
digestive  organs  by  following  dietary  rules — deny 
themselves  food  of  this,  that,  or  the  other  kind  through 
a  mistaken  notion  that  it  does  not  "agree"  with  them. 
Perhaps  they  have  taken  it  at  some  time  when  any- 
thing would  have  disagreed;  or  in  excessive  quantity. 
It  is  worth  while  to  make  very  sure  before  you  deny 
yourself  what  may  really  be  a  useful  and  pleasant  article 
of  food  on  the  ground  of  personal  idiosyncrasy.  Such 
idiosyncrasies,  I  repeat,  do  exist,  but  they  are  much  less 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

common  than  one  would  suppose  were  one  to  listen  to  the 
whims  of  every  hypochondriac. 

A  somewhat  similar  argument  applies  to  the  disuse 
of  certain  foods  on  the  ground  of  distaste  for  them. 
Such  distaste  may  result  from  some  unpleasant  ex- 
perience due  to  eating  the  food  in  excess,  or  to  having 
had  it  prescribed  as  an  article  of  exclusive  diet  during  a 
prolonged  illness.  An  aversion  to  milk,  for  example,  is 
often  due  to  the  latter  cause.  But  such  a  distaste  may 
usually  be  overcome  by  a  little  persistent  effort,  and, 
in  the  case  of  any  important  class  of  foods,  the  effort 
is  worth  the  making,  in  the  interest  of  a  varied  diet. 
To  yield  to  the  aversion  may  result  in  cutting  off  from 
your  regular  regimen  an  article  of  food  that  is  essential 
to  a  well-rounded  dietary;  to  say  nothing  of  the  prac- 
tical convenience  of  being  able  to  eat  the  things  that  are 
set  before  you  on  your  own  table  or  that  of  a  friend. 
And  the  latter  reason  alone  is  sufficient  to  make  it 
worth  while  to  train  every  child  to  eat  all  manner  of 
common  foods.  It  really  is  not  very  difficult  in  most 
cases  to  do  so,  and  the  child  will  have  abundant  cause 
to  thank  you  in  after  years  for  the  trouble. 

The  recommendation  of  a  varied  diet,  however,  is 
not  to  be  carried  to  the  extent  of  counselling  absolute 
indiscrimination.  On  the  contrary,  rational  applica- 
tion of  the  modern  knowledge  of  food-stuffs  may  very 
beneficially  supplement  the  general  knowledge  that  is 
revealed  in  the  average  food  customs  of  our  time. 
For  example,  you  will  do  well  to  vary  your  diet  to  meet 
the  requirements  of  your  particular  mode  of  life.  If 
your  employment   is   sedentary,   and   you   take   little 

[23] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

exercise,  so  that  the  muscular  (nitrogenous)  tissue  of 
your  body  is  relatively  little  subject  to  wear  and  tear, 
you  will  obviously  need  less  nitrogenous  food  than 
would  be  required  by  your  neighbor  whose  calling  is 
more  active. 

Now  the  nitrogenous  foods  are  meats,  eggs,  milk, 
cheese,  and  leguminous  vegetables.  Undoubtedly  you 
may  eat  too  much  of  these,  particularly  if  you  have  ac- 
quired a  taste  for  them  during  a  period  of  activity. 
Your  diet  remaining  unchanged,  after  you  have  adopted 
a  sedentary  manner  of  life,  your  system  may  be  clogged, 
as  it  were,  with  refuse  nitrogenous  products,  with  effects 
equivalent  to  a  mild  poisoning. 

A  very  large  number  of  Americans,  particularly  in 
the  cities,  suffer  from  this  cause.  They  eat  meat,  for 
example,  in  considerable  quantities,  two  or  even  three 
times  a  day,  while  taking  practically  no  exercise  at  all; 
whereas  even  an  athlete  in  training  may  very  well  get 
along  with  meat  once  a  day.  Undoubtedly  the  effect, 
particularly  in  persons  past  middle  Hfe,  is  detrimental; 
not  infrequently  this  habit  contributes  directly  to  the 
causation  of  such  diseases  as  gout  and  rheumatism, 
and  to  affections  of  the  kidneys. 

I  trust  that  no  one  will  construe  this  as  an  argument 
against  a  meat  diet  as  such.  It  is  intended  merely  to 
call  attention  to  the  dangers  of  over  much  cf  one  kind  of 
food  element,  which  is  essential  to  the  bodily  needs, 
to  be  sure,  but  which  may  be  taken  in  excess.  And, 
indeed,  precisely  the  same  manner  of  caution  may  be 
urged  against  excessive  use  of  other  of  the  food  elements. 
The  carbohydrates,   for  example,   as  represented  by 

[24] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

starches  and  sugars,  arc  taken  in  excess  by  a  very 
large  number  of  persons.  So  true  is  this,  that  an  in- 
ordinate fondness  for  candies,  and  for  rich  cakes,  pas- 
tries, and  "preserves"  might  be  said  to  be  almost  a 
national  American  vice.  The  habit  of  eating  candy 
between  meals — even  though  the  candy  in  itself  be 
entirely  wholesome — is  almost  sure  to  lead  to  a  cloyed 
appetite,  through  which  the  varied  diet  of  the  regular 
meal  will  be  neglected. 

If,  on  the  other  hand,  candy  is  eaten  after  the  regu- 
lar meal,  the  body  is  thereby  supplied  with  an  excess 
of  fuel  that  it  does  not  need ;  with  the  result  that  an  un- 
necessary strain  is  put  upon  the  digestive  and  assimila- 
tive apparatus.  Either  this  apparatus  suffers  in  con- 
sequence, and  the  food  is  badly  assimilated,  or  the  ex- 
cess of  carbonaceous  matter  is  stored  away  as  fatty 
tissue,  to  the  detriment  of  the  individual's  health, 
comfort,  and  (esthetic  appearance. 

The  same  line  of  reasoning  applies,  obviously,  to 
rich  pastries  and  desserts  taken  in  excessive  quantity 
after  a  meal  that  has  already  supplied  all  the  nourish- 
ment that  the  body  requires.  Persons  prone  to  obesity 
will  do  well  to  omit  this  course  altogether,  or  to  sub- 
stitute cheese  and  fruits  after  the  manner  of  the  Latin 
races;  and  the  same  rule  might  wisely  be  followed  by 
whoever  has  eaten  heartily  of  starchy  vegetables  be- 
fore the  dessert  appears.  The  great  danger  of  this 
rich  dessert  course  at  the  end  of  a  meal,  is  that  it  usu- 
ally adds  superfluous  fat-forming  material  to  a  supply 
already  more  than  ample. 

Its  merit,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  sheer  sensuous 

[25] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

pleasure  that  it  affords  the  palate.  Most  Americans 
find  it  hard  to  convince  themselves  that  they  have 
dined  satisfactorily  when  this  course  is  lacking.  They 
pine  for  it  when  in  foreign  lands,  and  very  commonly 
teach  their  European  cooks  to  make  desserts  that  at 
least  bear  some  resemblance  to  the  pies,  puddings,  and 
sundry  creamy  concoctions  of  their  native  heath.  To 
deprive  them  of  these  ''sweets," — as  the  British  vocab- 
ulary styles  them, — would  be  to  inflict  a  virtual  pun- 
ishment. To  inveigh  against  that  highest  product  of 
culinary  art,  the  New  England  pie,  seems  next  door 
to  an  assault  upon  the  Constitution. 

Far  be  it  from  me  to  disturb  the  slumbers  of  my  seven 
generations  of  New  England  ancestors  by  such  blas- 
phemy. Let  us  by  all  means  honor  the  pie  and  its 
cousins-german ;  but  let  us  reflect  that  no  one  can  do 
full  justice  to  these  crowning  gastronomic  gifts  who 
approaches  them  with  an  appetite  already  sated.  A 
certain  reserve  in  deahng  with  the  earlier  courses  of 
the  dinner  will  insure  the  dessert  a  better-merited  re- 
ception from  both  palate  and  digestive  system. 

But,  this,  after  all,  amounts  to  nothing  more  than 
the  counselling  of  moderation  in  eating  as  a  general 
principle.  Rest  assured,  however,  that  there  is  no 
principle  more  in  need  of  exploitation.  Theognis 
assures  us,  speaking  for  his  contemporaries  of  old 
Greece,  that  ''Satiety  has  killed  far  more  than  famine"; 
a  familiar  Latin  proverb  declares,  in  like  vein,  that 
"Gluttony  kills  more  than  the  sword";  and  the  voice 
of  the  modern  physiologist  gives  us  warning  that  in  this 
regard  times  are  not  greatly  changed  in  this  latter  day. 

[26] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

The  varied  delicacies  that  load  the  modern  table 
furnish  temptations  to  overeating  that  few  palates 
can  or  do  resist.  In  particular  the  American  custom 
of  providing  everything  in  lavish  quantity  and  serving 
several  kinds  of  food  at  a  course,  makes  for  the  vice  of 
overeating.  The  Latin  races,  regarding  eating  in  the 
light  of  an  important  social  custom,  prolong  the  meal 
to  lengths  that  the  hurried  American  often  thinks  in- 
terminable; yet  in  the  end,  since  each  course  consists 
of  only  a  nibble  at  a  single  viand,  they  have  partaken  of 
only  a  moderate  quantity  of  food,  which  the  digestive 
organs  are  far  better  able  to  care  for  than  if  it  had  been 
thrust  upon  them  more  hurriedly.  This  difference  of 
custom  is  doubtless  at  least  partly  responsible  for  the 
relative  prevalence  among  Americans  of  digestive  dis- 
orders on  the  one  hand  and  obesity  on  the  other. 

As  to  the  time  for  eating.  The  customs  of  all  races 
of  civilized  men  seem  virtually  agreed  as  to  the  whole- 
someness  of  taking  food  three  times  daily.  Continental 
peoples,  to  be  sure,  seem  to  make  light  of  breakfast ;  yet 
the  cafe  au  lait  with  rolls  and  butter  of  the  Frenchman 
and  the  thick  chocolate  of  the  Spaniard  have  adequate 
food  value,  even  though  simpler  in  preparation  than 
the  eggs,  bacon,  and  toast  of  the  Englishman  and  the 
steak  or  chops  and  potatoes  of  many  Americans.  And 
it  is  a  familiar  observation  that  many  Americans  after 
living  abroad  come  to  prefer  the  simpler  breakfast. 
Others  adapt  themselves  to  one  custom  or  the  other 
with  the  facility  that  characterises  a  formative  race, 
seeming  to  forget  the  existence   of  eggs  and   bacon 

[27] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

overnight  when  they  cross  the  Channel  from  England; 
and  reverting  to  steak,  potatoes,  and  griddle  cakes  as  a 
matter  of  course  when  they  sit  down  to  their  first  break- 
fast on  the  homeward-bound  steamer. 

It  were  futile  to  inquire  which  custom  is  intrinsically 
best,  since  each  nation  seems  to  thrive  on  its  own. 
Doubtless  the  differing  customs  are  linked  with  differ- 
ences of  climatic  conditions  and  of  racial  tempera- 
ment. Much  depends,  too,  upon  the  hour  at  which 
breakfast  is  taken;  something  more  upon  the  charac- 
ter of  the  forenoon  occupation;  and  most  of  all  per- 
haps upon  the  nature  of  the  mid-day  meal  that  is  to 
follow.  As  to  the  latter  point,  there  is  a  very  marked 
difference  of  custom.  Germans,  for  example,  almost 
invariably  eat  their  heartiest  meal  in  the  middle  of  the 
day;  while  the  French  as  habitually  dine  in  the  even- 
ing. National  peculiarities  aside,  it  may  be  said  that 
mid-day  dining  is  a  custom  of  the  country,  whereas 
the  city  dweller  dines  after  his  day's  work  is  done. 
The  differences  of  habit  as  regards  character  of  work, 
time  of  sleeping,  and  the  like,  that  give  rise  to  this 
diversity,  are  obvious;  and  the  manner  in  which  the 
human  system  adapts  itself  to  one  custom  or  the  other, 
thriving  under  either  regimen,  is  no  less  striking.  Al- 
most the  only  dogmaticism  that  the  observed  facts  seem 
to  warrant,  is  the  assertion  that  the  growing  child  may 
with  advantage  take  its  heartiest  meal  in  the  middle  of 
the  day. 

A  word  of  caution  may,  however,  be  given  as  to 
disturbing  the  regularity  of  habit.  If  you  dine  habitu- 
ally at  night,  it  is  a  very  questionable  procedure  indeed 

[28] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

to  change  to  a  mid-day  dinner  on  Sunday  and  on  holi- 
days, as  many  people  do.  Still  worse  is  it,  perhaps, 
if  you  dine  regularly  say  at  mid-day,  to  postpone  dinner 
on  these  recurring  holidays  till  two  or  three  hours 
past  the  accustomed  time.  The  digestive  system, 
when  in  proper  running  order,  is  wonderfully  clock- 
hke  in  its  operations,  and  to  disturb  the  regularity  of  its 
activities  once  in  seven  days  is  not  conducive  to  health 
or  happiness. 

Regarding  this  entire  phase  of  our  subject,  I  must 
needs  confine  myself  to  mere  hints;  but  I  must  not 
neglect  to  call  attention  to  two  great  universal  food 
supplies  that  might  readily  be  overlooked  because  of 
their  very  universality.  I  mean,  of  course,  water  and 
air.  So  largely  are  the  bodily  tissues  dependent  upon 
the  watery  solvent  that  makes  up  their  main  bulk, 
and  so  rapidly  is  the  supply  exhausted,  that  the  or- 
ganism cannot  maintain  life  beyond  four  or  five  days  at 
most,  if  totally  deprived  of  this  all-important  food; 
and  the  demand  for  a  renewal  of  the  oxygen  supplied 
by  the  lungs  is  even  more  insistent,  since  here  the  period 
of  deprivation  consistent  with  the  continuance  of  life 
is  to  be  measured  by  minutes,  or  even  by  seconds. 
Meantime  life  may  be  preserved  for  several  weeks 
without  the  ingestion  of  any  other  foods  than  these. 

Notwithstanding  the  obvious  dietetic  importance  of 
water  and  of  oxygen-supplying  air,  however,  nothing 
is  more  common  than  the  over-abstemious  use  of  the 
former  and  the  neglect  to  secure  an  adequate  and  pure 
supply  of  the  latter.     In  particular,  persons  that  suffer 

h9] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

from  rheumatic  and  neuralgic  disorders  are  very  gen- 
erally found  to  have  almost  an  aversion  to  water  as  a 
beverage.  In  treating  these  and  numerous  other 
affections,  physicians  have  occasion  to  prescribe  the 
free  drinking  of  water  as  an  adjunct  to  or  a  substitute 
for  drugs.  Often  they  send  their  patients  to  the  famous 
watering-places  merely  because  water  to  flush  out  the 
system  will  there  be  taken  as  it  would  not  be  taken  at 
home.  Even  in  acute  illnesses,  they  find  the  free 
imbibition  of  water  an  aid  that  may  take  precedence  over 
drugs ;  and  to  persons  in  health  who  would  remain  well, 
no  counsel  is  oftener  or  more  wisely  given  than  the 
injunction  to  drink  water  freely. 

The  curative  value  of  pure  air  has  long  been  known, 
but  is  perhaps  more  fully  appreciated  by  the  physicians 
of  the  present  generation  than  ever  before.  Popular 
attention  has  been  directed  toward  the  subject  in 
recent  years  by  the  striking  results  of  open-air  treat- 
ment of  consumption.  Wide  publicity  has  been  given 
also,  very  recently,  to  the  fact  that  even  acute  diseases, 
such  as  pneumonia,  may  be  treated  to  great  advantage 
in  the  open  air. 

Meantime  the  need  of  an  adequate  air  supply  for  the 
organism  in  health  has  been  brought  to  public  attention 
through  discussions  as  to  the  ventilation  of  school 
buildings,  theatres,  and  the  like.  Yet  the  full  im- 
portance of  the  subject  is  certainly  not  appreciated  by 
the  average  cultivated  person  of  to-day;  as  witness,  for 
example,  the  fact  that  few  individuals  consider  the 
question  of  ventilation  at  all  when  purchasing  or  building 
private  dwellings  for  their  own  habitation.     No  small 

[30] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

proportion  of  the  inhabitants  of  Europe  and  America, 
even  of  the  cultivated  classes,  sleep  habitually  in  rooms 
v^ith  closed  windows, — rooms  so  closely  approximat- 
ing hermetic  sealing  that  the  air  inevitably  becomes 
positively  noxious  before  morning. 

Having  thus  deliberately  set  about  poisoning  them- 
selves, they  marvel  at  the  natural  sequence  of  events, 
in  accordance  with  which  they  sleep  poorly,  are  dis- 
turbed by  dreams,  and  awake  stupefied  rather  than 
refreshed. 

Even  during  the  waking  hours,  a  large  number  of 
people  secure  a  less  adequate  supply  of  oxygen  than 
they  might  supply  their  tissues  had  they  learned  to 
practise  better  methods  of  breathing.  Under  ordinary 
conditions,  breathing  is,  to  be  sure,  an  involuntary 
function.  In  response  to  the  insistent  demands  of 
the  tissues,  the  lungs  are  inflated,  without  conscious 
direction  from  the  brain,  sufficiently  to  secure  at  least 
a  minimum  quantity  of  oxygen.  But  persons  of 
sedentary  habits  do  well  to  supplement  this  reflex  ac- 
tivity by  giving  conscious  attention  from  time  to  time 
to  the  manner  of  their  breathing. 

It  you  will  now  and  again  go  to  an  open  door  or 
window  and,  standing  erect  with  shoulders  thrown 
back,  practise  forced  breathing  to  the  fullest  capacity 
of  your  lungs  for  a  minute  or  two,  you  will  directly 
benefit  every  tissue  of  your  body,  and  will  tend  to  de- 
velop improved  habits  of  involuntary  breathing. 

To  women  in  particular  this  practise  is  to  be  com- 
mended, partly  because  they  as  a  class  are  more  given  to 
sedentary  habits  of  life,  but  partly  also  because  the 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

extraordinary  fashioning  of  female  attire  tends  to  place 
women  at  a  disadvantage  as  regards  the  securing  of  an 
adequate  air-supply.  In  saying  this  I  would  not  be 
understood  as  viewing  with  fanatical  eye  the  subject 
of  corsetting.  I  am  thoroughly  aware  that  a  vast  num- 
ber of  women  maintain  a  fair  measure  of  health  and 
attain  a  good  old  age  notwithstanding  they  have  kept 
their  lungs  constricted  by  moderate  lacing  every  day  of 
their  lives. 

In  this  as  in  so  many  other  instances,  the  organism 
proves  itself  marvelously  adaptive  and  wondrously 
resistent  to  abusive  treatment. 

Yet  no  one  who  understands  the  physiological  role  of 
oxygen  can  doubt  that  to  restrict  the  air-supply  is  to  aim 
a  blow  at  the  proper  activities  of  all  the  tissues  and 
organs  of  the  body ;  and  it  does  seem  rather  a  pity  that 
the  sex  which  is  striving  so  valiantly  and  in  many 
ways  so  successfully  to  demonstrate  its  intellectual 
fitness  for  high  tasks,  should  stubbornly  refuse  to  let 
common  sense  guide  it  to  the  removal  of  so  obvious  a 
physiological  obMacle. 

It  is  gratifying,  on  the  other  hand,  to  recall  that  the 
physiology  of  breathing  is  now  taught  pretty  generally 
in  our  elementary  schools,  so  that  the  average  youth  of 
fourteen  knows  more  about  the  subject  than  the  wisest 
physician  could  know  in  the  days  of  our  grandparents. 
Doubtless  the  universal  diffusion  of  information  on  this 
all-important  subject  will  in  due  course  have  an  ap- 
preciable effect  upon  the  health  and  happiness  of  the 
average  members  of  our  race. 

In  the  meantime  any  individual  who  so  chooses  may 

[32] 


PHYSICAL   NEEDS 

further  his  own  interests  by  paying  heed  to  his  own 
method  of  breathing,  and  by  challenging  the  quality 
of  the  air-supply  which  his  habitual  manner  of  living 
provides. 

An  intelligent  attention  to  the  subject  may  very  likely 
ward  off  actual  disease,  and  will  surely  add  to  your 
personal  comfort,  to  your  sense  of  well-being,  to  your 
working  efficiency,  and  to  your  capacity  for  enjoyment. 

It  remains  to  speak  of  certain  commodities  which  are 
not  foods  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  word,  yet  which  are 
akin  to  food- stuffs,  and  which  play  a  most  important 
role  in  relation  to  the  needs  of  the  physical  organism. 
I  mean,  of  course,  these  universal  solacers  of  over- 
wrought nerves  and  perverted  appetites,  tea,  coffee, 
alcholic  beverages,  and  tobacco.  Alcohol  is,  to  be 
sure,  a  food  of  the  carbohydrate  family,  but  it  does 
not  owe  its  popularity  to  its  food  value,  and  would 
quickly  fall  into  disrepute  were  that  alone  considered. 
In  common  with  the  others,  it  is  taken  for  its  effects  on 
palate  and  nerves,  not  because  of  its  power  to  repair  or 
build  up  tissues.  Tea  and  coffee  are  mild  nerve 
stimulants,  and  tobacco  contains  an  essential  prin- 
ciple, nicotine,  that  is  one  of  the  most  virulent  of  poisons. 

Tobacco,  as  everyone  knows,  is  a  contribution  of  the 
Western  hemisphere,  and  hence  was  unknown  to 
European  civilization  till  the  sixteenth  century.  Tea 
and  coffee  were  equally  unknown  to  classical  antiquity. 
But  alcoholic  beverages  have  been  known  and  loved 
of  men  since  the  dawning  of  civilization. 

Doubtless  alcohol  has  caused  more  misery — has  de- 

[33] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

tracted  more  from  the  sum  of  human  happiness — than 
has  any  other  commodity  or  combination  of  commodi- 
ties. When  one  considers  how  this  enticing  drug  has 
held  mankind  in  thraldom  generation  after  genera- 
tion, claiming  as  victims  some  of  the  brightest  minds 
and  most  noble  characters;  when  one  reflects  how  it 
undermines  the  physical  constitution,  dethrones  rea- 
son, perverts  morals,  breaks  up  families,  and  threatens 
the  stability  of  races; — when  one  reflects  on  these 
things  even  in  their  most  patent  bearings,  one  finds  it 
difficult  to  speak  with  sane  moderation  of  a  drug  so  all- 
potent  for  evil,  even  as  it  is  difBcult  to  use  the  drug 
itself  in  moderation. 

Yet  sane  criticism  demands  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  vast  numbers  of  people  in  every  generation  have 
been  able  to  use  alcohol  habitually  without  ever  using 
it  to  obvious  excess,  and  without  ever  becoming  its 
slaves  in  the  ordinary  acceptance  of  the  word.  All 
the  Mediterranean  races  of  antiquity  were  habitual 
wine-drinkers,  as  are  the  Latin  races  of  to-day.  Doubt- 
less the  Greeks  and  Romans  believed,  as  do  the  Italians, 
Spaniards,  and  French  of  to-day,  that  the  use  of  wine 
as  an  habitual  table  beverage  adds  to  the  well  being  of 
mankind.  A  dinner  without  wine  would  be  to  them  a 
repast  deprived  of  its  atmosphere  of  contentment  and 
geniality. 

I  have  neither  space  nor  inclination  to  discuss  here 
the  effects  upon  a  race  of  such  habitual  and  general  use 
of  an  alcoholic  beverage;  and  I  desire  to  avoid  mere 
dogmatic  assertions  regarding  a  subject  of  great  com- 
plexity.    Nevertheless  I  venture  to  state  my  personal 

[34] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

opinion,  based  on  a  careful  consideration  of  the  subject 
from  many  points  of  view,  that  this  habitual  use  of 
wine,  particularly  during  childhood  and  adolescence, 
has  been  the  prime  factor  in  stunting  the  size  of  the 
Latin  races.  It  goes  without  saying  that  I  conceive 
undesirable  mental  and  moral  developments  to  have 
coincided  with  the  physical  degeneration  thus  implied. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  our  present  concern  is  with  the  in- 
dividual rather  than  with  the  races.  And  assuredly  one 
hazards  nothing  in  counselling  the  average  individual 
to  give  alcohol  in  every  form  a  wide  berth.  It  may  be 
admitted,  as  general  principle,  that  the  self-control 
that  makes  temperate  indulgence  possible  is  admir- 
able. But  the  very  fact  that  total  abstinence  is  for 
most  people  easier  than  temperate  indulgence  speaks 
volumes;  and  the  wise  individual  may  well  ask  him- 
self why  he  should  tamper  at  all  with  a  temptation  that 
may  lead  to  his  total  undoing,  and  that  can  by  no  chance 
add  to  his  well-being. 

Even  the  taking  of  a  glass  of  claret  at  dinner,  which 
seems  a  mild  form  of  indulgence,  is  based  on  an  illusive 
principle.  It  is  supposed  either  to  aid  in  digesting  a 
larger  quantity  of  food  than  could  otherwise  be  in- 
gested with  comfort;  or  to  stimulate  the  mind  to  more 
than  normal  activity.  In  the  one  case,  it  aids  in  the 
formation  of  a  deleterious  habit  of  overeating;  in 
the  other  it  stimulates  to  abnormal  activities  from 
which  the  mind  must  react  disadvantageously.  The 
healthy  digestive  system  and  the  healthy  mind  need  no 
such  artificial  prodding. 

In  somewhat  modified  degree,  the  same  remarks 

E35] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

might  be  applied  to  tea  and  coffee;  though  of  course 
these  solacers  differ  from  alcohol  in  that  their  abuse 
does  not  lead  to  such  depths  of  disaster; — albeit  their 
effects  on  the  system  are  more  harmful  than  are  some- 
times supposed.  Tobacco  occupies  an  intermediate 
position:  its  effects  are  more  pronounced  than  those 
of  tea  or  coffee,  and  less  pronounced  than  those  of 
alcohol.  Its  poisonous  principle  is  one  to  which  the 
system  must  be  gradually  accustomed  before  it  can  be 
taken  with  even  apparent  impunity.  On  the  system 
not  thus  partly  immunized,  even  a  small  quantity  of 
nicotine  acts  as  a  virulent  poison. 

Yet  of  course  it  is  a  matter  of  every-day  knowledge 
that  hundreds  of  thousands  of  individuals  use  tobacco 
habitually  and  live  to  a  green  old  age,  seemingly 
none  the  worse  for  the  habit.  Nor  should  we  forget 
the  large  modicum  of  pleasure  that  is  to  be  credited 
to  the  weed.  Nevertheless,  I  venture  to  predict  that 
ten  out  of  twelve  of  your  friends  who  use  tobacco 
will  admit,  if  you  question  them,  that  they  believe  they 
would  be  better  off  without  it.  Most  of  them  will  ad- 
mit that  on  occasion  they  have  "sworn  off," — only  to 
begin  again  under  stress  of  the  old  temptation.  No 
one  of  them,  I  think,  will  assert  that  tobacco  benefits 
his  physical  system. 

In  a  word,  then,  most  users  of  tobacco  must  admit 
themselves  virtually  slaves  to  a  habit  which  they  re- 
gard as  deleterious.  Most  smokers  prefer  that  their 
sons  should  not  smoke,  and  keep  tobacco  from  them 
as  long  as  they  can; — a  fact  which  in  itself  constitutes 
a  serious  indictment  of  the  weed.     Yet  so  imitative 

[36] 


PHYSICAL  NEEDS 

is  human  nature  that  precept  and  warning  are  mostly 
thrown  away,  and  we  see  the  youth  of  each  succeeding 
generation  following  the  example  rather  than  the  ad- 
monitions of  their  elders. 

Nevertheless  I  venture  one  other  suggestion.  Every- 
one is  aware  that  athletes,  when  training  for  a  great 
physical  contest — football,  rowing,  boxing,  or  what 
not— are  usually  obliged  to  abstain  altogether  from 
tea,  coffee,  alcohol,  and  tobacco.  It  seems  an  easy 
inference  that  it  would  be  the  part  of  wisdom  for 
anyone  who  would  keep  himself  in  the  best  physical 
condition  to  abstain  from  these  drugs  at  all  times. 
This  is  counselling  too  much  asceticism,  you  say  ?  Well, 
that  depends.  Enough  foodstuffs  remain,  it  would 
seem,  to  satisfy  any  reasonable  appetite.  Of  course 
if  you  take  the  Byronic  motto:  "I  will  dig  the  mine 
of  my  youth  to  the  last  vein  of  the  ore,  and  then — 
good  night!  I  have  lived,  and  it  is  enough": — if  you 
take  this  motto,  I  say,  no  such  argument  as  this  can 
appeal  to  you.  But  if  you  prefer  to  make  bid  for  a 
longer,  saner,  and  happier  life,  the  thought  is  worth 
consideration. 

But  in  judging  the  probable  effects  of  such  admoni- 
tion as  this,  we  must  reflect  that  the  large  majority 
of  users  of  these  drugs  can  scarcely  be  said  to  follow 
their  own  wills  in  the  matter.  They  obey  the  man- 
dates of  that  most  powerful  of  autocrats,  Habit,  and 
the  course  over  which  he  drives  them  is  an  inclined 
plane  which  becomes  steeper  as  they  advance.  It  is 
only  at  the  beginning  that  most  men  could  turn  back 
if  they  so  desired.     Some  men  do  indeed  remain  masters 

[37] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

of  their  own  physical  desires  to  the  end,  but  they  are  the 
rare  and  admirable  exceptions.  And  even  such  self- 
mastery  consists  essentially  of  a  perennial  capacity  to 
substitute  good  habits  for  bad  ones.  Indeed  the  en- 
tire regulation  of  our  physical  needs  is  largely  brought 
about  through  the  struggle  to  establish  favorable  habits 
as  against  disadvantageous  ones.  In  proportion  as  the 
victory  is  won,  does  the  organism  gain  a  machine-like 
capacity  to  work  to  best  advantage  and  to  make  the 
most  of  its  opportunities. 

But  you  do  not  wish  to  be  a  mere  machine,  you  say  ? 
Ah,  but  your  wishes  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter. 
That  was  decided  for  you  ages  before  you  were  born. 
Your  body  is  a  machine,  subject  to  well-known  physical 
and  chemical  laws;  and  your  mind  depends  for  its 
operations — for  its  very  being — on  the  operations  of  this 
body. 

You  have  no  choice  as  to  that. 

Your  only  choice  is  as  to  whether  you  will  make  your 
body  a  well-regulated,  carefully  tended  machine,  or 
whether  you  will  allow  it  to  fall  into  a  state  of  slovenly 
disrepair;  whether  you  will  be  the  director  of  your 
habits,  or  their  feeble  slave.  Stated  thus  there  can  be 
no  question  as  to  what  should  be  your  answer;  surely 
there  is  no  question  as  to  which  line  of  action  will  tend 
to  make  for  greater  happiness. 


[38] 


chapter    III 
SOUND    BODIES 

"Do  nothing  unknowingly,  but  be  taught  what  is  requi- 
site; and  thus  you  will  pass  life  the  most  pleasantly.  Nor 
is  it  meet  for  you  to  have  no  care  for  the  health  of  the  body; 
but  to  make  to  yourself  a  moderation  in  drink  and  food  and 
exercise;  and  I  call  that  moderation  which  will  give  no 
pain."  — From  the  ^^ Golden  Words"  of  Pythagoras. 


"  There  is  a  great  difference  between  one  who  is  learned  and 
one  who  is  not,  and  between  one  who  has  been  trained  in 
gymnastic  exercises  and  one  who  has  not  been.  Now  the 
rulers  [of  the  Ideal  State],  male  and  female,  should  see  to  these 
things;  the  women  superintending  the  nursing  and  amuse- 
ments of  the  children,  and  the  men  superintending  their  edu- 
cation, that  all  of  them,  boys  and  girls  alike,  may  be  sound, 
hand  and  foot,  and  may  not  spoil  the  gift  of  nature  by  bad 
habits,  in  so  far  as  this  can  be  avoided."  — Plato. 


Ill 

SOUND  BODIES 

THERE  is  still  another  aspect  of  physical 
well-being  that  demands  attention  from  who- 
ever would  invite  health,  with  its  attendant 
prospect  of  happiness.  It  is  not  enough  that  the  body 
should  be  well  nourished  and  free  from  the  taint  of 
vicious  habits  of  indulgence ;  it  is  requisite  also,  in  this 
age  of  sedentary  occupations,  that  direct  attention 
should  be  given  to  the  needs  of  the  muscular  system. 
The  generality  of  the  men  and  women  for  whom  these 
pages  are  written  are  engaged  in  occupations  that  re- 
quire mental  rather  than  physical  effort ;  and  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  a  large  proportion  of  them  have  muscular 
systems  that  are  in  a  state  of  greater  or  less  disrepair. 

The  basis  for  this  predication  is  found  in  the  simplest 
of  physiological  facts, — the  fact  namely  that  the  mus- 
cular system  of  man,  like  that  of  every  other  animal, 
is  so  constituted  that  it  develops  if  used  and  degenerates 
if  not  used.  A  muscle  that  lies  quiescent  becomes  flabby 
and  ill-nourished ;  ultimately  it  degenerates  and  shrinks 
in  size.  But  let  the  muscle  contract  from  time  to  time, 
which  is  the  only  thing  that  any  muscle  can  do  directly, 
and  it  grows,  thrives,  and  becomes  strong  and  healthy, 
provided,  of  course,  that  other  conditions  are  favor- 
able. But  these  simple  physiological  facts  would  be  of 
no  great  significance  in  the  present  connection  were  it 

[41] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

not  for  the  further  fact  that  all  the  various  organs  of 
the  human  body  are  Hnked  together  and  in  some  degree 
mutually  dependent.  Thus  the  muscles,  though  their 
direct  and  primary  function  is  to  contract,  have  a 
scarcely  less  important  secondary  function  in  their 
influence  over  the  other  organs.  This  influence  is 
exerted  through  two  patent  channels,  the  blood-vessels 
and  the  nerves. 

Every  muscular  contraction,  besides  tending  to  pro- 
duce a  movement  of  some  portion  of  the  body,  com- 
presses the  veins  in  and  about  the  substance  of  the 
muscle,  and  accelerates  the  flow  of  blood  in  these  vessels. 
Muscular  contraction  is  therefore,  within  reasonable 
limits,  a  direct  aid  to  the  heart  in  keeping  up  the  circu- 
lation of  the  blood.  And  since  every  organ  of  the  body 
(including,  of  course,  the  brain)  depends  absolutely 
upon  its  blood-supply  for  its  power  of  vital  activity,  the 
indirect  influence  of  the  muscles,  exerted  through  the 
blood-vessels  over  every  other  organ  of  the  body,  is  of 
vast  importance. 

The  influence  exerted  through  the  nerves  is  not  quite 
so  tangible,  but  even  more  important.  The  muscle 
cell  and  the  brain  cell  are  like  poles  of  a  battery,  a  nerve 
being  the  connecting  wire.  Vital  impulses  travel  back 
and  forth  over  this  nerve,  and  the  integrity  of  these  im- 
pulses is  dependent  upon  the  integrity  of  the  cells  at 
either  end,  as  well  as  upon  the  integrity  of  the  nerve  it- 
self. Let  the  nerve  be  severed,  and  both  muscle  cell 
and  brain  ceU  will  in  part  lose  their  function,  and  tend 
to  suffer  degeneration.     Under  ordinary  conditions  the 

[42] 


SOUND  BODIES 

muscle  can  contract  only  when  an  impulse  from  the 
nervous  system  tells  it  to  contract.  The  impulse 
which  the  muscle  cell  sends  back  stimulates  the  brain 
cell  to  perform  its  function.  If  either  cell  is  injured, 
the  other  degenerates. 

That  is  to  say,  the  injury  or  destruction  of  a  muscle 
of  any  individual's  body — let  us  say  the  amputation  of 
an  arm — brings  about  an  actual  degeneration  of  cells 
within  the  brain  of  that  individual.  His  central  ner- 
vous system  is  crippled  as  well  as  his  muscular  system, 
and  this  not  merely  in  an  imaginary  way,  but  actually 
and  demonstrably.  One  might  even  go  a  step  further, 
still  keeping  within  the  bounds  of  truth,  and  say  that, 
indirectly,  every  other  organ  of  the  body  also  suffers 
to  some  extent,  since  it  is  not  merely  brain  cell  and 
muscle  cell  that  are  linked  in  mutual  dependence,  but, 
directly  or  indirectly,  every  pair  of  cells  in  the  entire 
body. 

Now  since  a  less  degree  of  injury  than  actual  de- 
struction will  necessarily  result  in  proportionate  recipro- 
cal weakening,  it  follows  that  the  health  of  the  brain  and 
of  every  other  organ  is  in  some  measure  linked  with  and 
dependent  upon  the  health  of  the  muscular  system.  The 
person  who  desires  physical  health  can  therefore  do  no 
better  than  to  seek  the  aid  of  his  muscles  in  securing 
it.  And  in  doing  this  he  need,  in  fact,  can,  do  noth- 
ing more  than  permit  his  muscles  to  secure  exercise 
through  performance  of  their  natural  function  of 
contraction. 

But  the  power  of  the  muscles  as  health-preservers  ex- 
tends beyond  mere  physical  well-being.     We  have  seen 

[43] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

that  the  muscles  exert  a  direct  influence  over  the  brain. 
Now  we  know  that  the  brain  is  the  organ  of  the  mind. 
The  brain  may  not  "secrete  thought  as  the  hver  secretes 
bile,"  as  some  of  the  cruder  old-time  philosophers 
phrased  it,  but  physical  action  of  the  cells  of  the  brain 
is  essential  to  the  production  of  conscious  mind,  however 
the  metaphysicians  may  strive  to  evade  that  fact. 
Whatever  the  rationale  of  the  link  that  binds  brain  and 
mind,  the  Hnk  exists.  A  healthy  brain  has  its  counter- 
part in  a  healthy  mind,  and  a  diseased  brain  will  pro- 
duce— I  use  the  word  advisedly — a  diseased  mind. 
Therefore,  since  an  altogether  healthy  brain  can  exist 
only  in  an  altogether  healthy  body  the  integrity  of  the 
mind  is  indirectly  but  very  vitally  dependent  upon 
the  integrity  of  every  cell  of  the  body. 

And  that  is  another  way  of  saying  that  in  a  very 
practical  and  vital  sense  every  organ  of  the  body  is  a 
mind  organ,  hence  that  everything  that  tends  to  pro- 
mote the  health  of  the  remotest  cell  of  the  body  tends 
also  to  promote  the  mental  health  of  the  individual  of 
whose  body  that  cell  is  a  part. 

It  follows,  as  an  irrefutable  corollary,  that  no  mind 
can  attain  the  greatest  development  of  which  it  is  poten- 
tially capable  unless  the  body  that  it  animates  under- 
goes a  corresponding  development.  I  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  a  powerful  mind  may  not  reside  in  a  frail  body. 
Such  a  statement  would  be  palpably  absurd.  Both 
minds  and  bodies  have  their  hereditary  limitations. 
I  do  mean  to  say  that  the  powerful  mind  in  the  frail 
body  would  be  yet  more  powerful — capable  of  more 

[44] 


SOUND  BODIES 

sustained  efforts,  and  so  of  greater  ultimate  achieve- 
ments— if  the  body,  even  though  inherently  frail,  were 
brought  to  its  fullest  physiological  development. 

In  this  view — which  is  the  true  view — there  is  no 
rivalry  between  the  gymnasium  and  the  library.  The 
professor  of  gymnastics  is  the  direct  ally  of  the  professor 
of  philosophy.  The  swinging  of  dumbbells  (I  cite  this 
because  it  is  about  the  most  inane  form  of  physical 
exercise)  is  an  intellectual  performance.  The  young 
man  who  appears  to  be  bent  only  on  grappling  a  foot- 
ball is  in  reality  helping  himself  to  prepare  his  Greek 
lesson.  The  budding  athlete  as  he  measures  his  biceps 
and  notes  a  fraction  of  an  inch  of  increase  is  really 
measuring  his  mind  also.  That  may  seem  a  very  far- 
fetched illustration,  but,  considering  mental  poten- 
tialities of  course  rather  than  actual  achievements,  it  is 
Hterally  true.  The  motto  of  the  Turnvereins — "A 
sound  mind  in  a  sound  body" — in  its  widest  implica- 
tions, is  most  amply  sustained  by  the  facts  of  physiology 
and  psychology. 

It  is  because  our  people  as  a  whole  are  beginning  to 
realize  the  implications  of  these  physiological  facts 
that  there  has  come  the  marvellous  wave  of  interest  in 
athletics.  Some  centuries  since,  the  invention  of  gun- 
powder seemed  to  take  the  premium  off  physical  strength. 
With  advancing  civilization  mental  strength  became 
the  sine  qua  non.  But  now  it  appears  that  the  two  must 
go  together;  that  the  mind  of  man,  despite  its  rationality, 
is  earth-born  and  earth-bound,  and  cannot  safely  spurn 
the  body  it  inhabits. 

Primitive  peoples,  indeed,  are  little  disposed  to  do  so. 

[45] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

They  develop  the  body  perforce.  War  and  the  chase, 
the  making  of  implements,  tilling  the  soil,  in  short, 
their  every-day  avocations,  keep  them  in  constant 
training.  And  the  same  is  largely  true  of  the  residents 
of  rural  districts  in  civilized  communities.  The  far- 
mer need  not  be  told  to  exercise  his  body.  He  has 
hardly  leisure  from  physical  exercise  to  develop  his 
mind. 

But  we  are  hving  in  the  age  of  cities.  Year  by  year 
the  population  of  the  civilized  world  masses  itself  into 
larger  and  larger  communities,  and  lives  on  an  average  a 
more  and  more  sedentary  life,  as  regards  vocations  that 
bring  a  livelihood.  Meantime  the  struggle  for  exis- 
tence, though  becoming  harder  and  harder,  is  less  and 
less  a  physical  struggle,  more  and  more  a  battle  of 
minds.  So  the  tendency  has  been  everywhere  to  put 
a  premium  on  mental  development  and  disrcard  phys- 
ical development. 

Only  when  the  disastrous  effects  of  this  one-sided 
development  have  become  manifest  in  the  sequel  has  the 
reaction  come.  It  has  become  proverbial  that  our 
cities  were  stocked  with  ''new  blood"  from  the  country, 
and  that  the  succeeding  generations  of  city-bred  de- 
scendants were  progressively  degenerative.  Plainly 
this  must  not  continue  if  the  gregarious  impulse  is  to  be 
increasingly  obeyed  and  the  average  status  of  our  race 
maintained  or  carried  forward.  And  gradually  the  idea 
gained  acceptance  that  in  physical  development  lay 
the  remedy.  Hence  the  introduction  of  calisthenics  into 
our  schools,  the  building  of  gymnasia  for  our  colleges, 
the  springing  up  of  athletic  clubs  in  our  cities,  the 

[46] 


SOUND  BODIES 

amazing  popular  interest  in  athletic  games,  and,  lastly, 
the  marvellous  conquest  of  the  bicycle. 

After  all,  then,  this  seemingly  new  interest  in  athletics 
is  nothing  new  at  all,  but  a  return  to  nature.  The 
masses  of  the  people  are  merely  opening  their  eyes  to  the 
lesson  which  nature  has  all  along  been  ceaselessly  teach- 
ing. The  normal  child,  obeying  the  impulses  of  nature, 
is  perpetually  in  motion.  Its  incessant  activity  is  at 
once  a  lesson  and  a  rebuke  to  the  sedentary  philosopher, 
but  only  of  late  has  the  philosopher  read  the  lesson  or 
heeded  the  rebuke. 

The  healthy  boy  takes  to  physical  sports  as  the  young 
duck  takes  to  water.  So  does  the  young  wild  animal. 
But  the  young  civilized  animal  is  forced  presently  to 
give  up  his  sports  in  entering  on  a  struggle  for  existence 
that  involves  largely  mental  elements,  while  the  wild 
animal's  struggle  for  existence  is  of  a  kind  to  keep  it 
developed  as  long  as  it  lives.  The  result  is  that  the  wild 
animal,  unless  destroyed  by  violence,  lives  out,  as  a  rule, 
the  natural  term  of  its  life  little  troubled  by  disease. 
The  same  animal  made  captive,  and  perforce  deprived 
of  exercise,  languishes,  wrestles  constantly  with  dis- 
ease, and  as  a  rule  falls  an  early  prey  to  consumption 
or  some  allied  malady. 

Civilized  man  who  will  not  exercise  suffers  similarly 
from  disease,  and  on  the  average  does  not  live  out  half 
the  term  of  his  allotted  threescore  years  and  ten.  Lack 
of  exercise  is  not  the  sole  cause  of  this  degenerative 
tendency,  of  course,  but  it  is  one  important  cause. 
Hence,  recognizing  this,  it  becomes  the  duty  of  man, 
in  virtue  of  his  boasted  rationality,  to«dispel  this  cause, 

[47] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

and  by  giving  proper  attention  to  his  body  to  prepare 
his  mind  for  further  conquests.  The  necessity  for  this 
forces  itself  upon  him  in  a  way  that  leaves  no  ground  for 
question.  The  only  things  to  be  determined  are  (i) 
the  degree  of  development  that  is  to  be  desired,  and 
(2)  the  methods  by  which  it  may  best  be  secured. 

I.  As  to  the  degree  of  development  that  will  tend  to 
preserve  the  health  of  the  muscles  and  other  organs,  it  is, 
of  course,  impossible  to  speak  except  in  general  terms. 
Everyone  secures  some  measure  of  exercise  in  the 
routine  of  his  ordinary  life.  But  very  few  vocations  arc 
calculated  to  give  the  various  muscles  of  the  body  sym- 
metrical exercise.  The  rational  thing,  of  course,  is 
for  any  individual  to  exercise  perfunctorily  those  sets  of 
muscles  that  are  not  exercised  naturally  in  his  ordinary 
manner  of  living.  For  the  vast  majority  of  people  un- 
der ordinary  conditions  of  living  the  muscles  that  arc 
most  slighted  arc  those  of  the  chest  and  upper  extremi- 
ties. Nearly  every  one  is  obliged  to  walk  enough  in  a 
day  to  keep  his  leg  and  thigh  muscles  in  a  condition 
of  reasonable  tonicity.  But  the  average  individual 
has  chest  and  upper-arm  muscles  that  are  flabby  and 
undeveloped  to  the  last  degree. 

Measurement  of  a  few  average  arms  will  at  once 
satisfy  anyone  of  this.  There  was  a  time,  doubtless, 
when  our  ancestors  had  arms  as  large  as  their  legs,  per- 
haps even  larger.  Our  remote  tree-dwelling  relatives 
have  such  arms  now.  But  centuries  of  biped  use  have 
developed  our  lower  extremities  disproportionately, 
until  now  the  most  fully  developed  human  arm  bears 
no  comparison  in  size  to  the  thigh  of  the  same  individual 

[48] 


SOUND  BODIES 

(if  normal).  It  is  held  by  anatomists  that  the  fully 
developed  upper  arm  at  the  present  stage  of  our  racial 
evolution  should  be  of  the  same  size  as  the  calf  of  the 
leg,  and  this  size,  it  may  be  added,  the  same  as  that  of  the 
neck. 

These  measurements  being  taken  as  the  criteria  of 
perfectly  symmetrical  development,  any  one  may  easily 
find  out  for  himself  how  far  he  falls  short  of  such  de- 
velopment. As  a  rule,  the  tape-line  will  show  at  once 
that  it  is  the  upper  extremity  which  needs  attention.  It 
is  not  to  be  expected  that  the  person  who  is  merely 
exercising  for  health  will  ever  develop  his  arm  till  it 
meets  the  standard  of  symmetrical  development,  nor 
is  it  necessary  that  he  should  do  so.  So  long  as  he 
works  in  that  direction  he  is  on  the  right  track,  and  if 
he  keeps  the  muscles  of  the  arms,  chest,  and  shoulders 
in  "tone,"  so  that  they  tend  to  keep  him  erect,  and  are 
sufficiently  firm  to  give  support  to  the  blood-vessels 
that  penetrate  them,  he  will  accomplish  all  that  is 
absolutely  necessary. 

2.  How  may  this  be  done?  Apparently  by  num- 
berless methods,  but  in  reality  all  of  these  are  funda- 
mentally the  same.  The  one  thing  that  a  muscle  can 
do  primarily  is  to  contract  in  the  direction  of  its  long 
axis.  Therefore  the  only  way  a  muscle  can  be  exer- 
cised is  by  allowing  it  to  contract.  The  only  way  in 
which  the  mind  of  any  human  being  in  the  world  can 
make  itself  known  and  felt  objectively  is  by  causing 
such  contraction  of  some  set  of  muscles.  Muscles 
under  normal  conditions  contract  when  the  mind  directs 
them  to  do  so,  and  it  is  by  voluntarily  directing  various 

[49] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

sets  of  muscles  to  perform  their  function  over  and  over 
that  perfunctory  development  of  these  muscles  is 
effected. 

It  appears,  therefore,  that  physical  development  in 
its  essence  is  simplicity  itself.  Any  motion  that  causes 
a  muscle  to  contract  against  moderate  resistance  ex- 
ercises that  muscle  and  causes  it  to  develop.  Any- 
one by  using  common-sense  may  devise  for  himself 
exercises  that  will  develop  the  weaker  muscles  of  his 
body,  though  he  be  profoundly  ignorant  of  anatomy. 
Remembering  that  all  bodily  movements  are  caused  by 
muscles  contracting  on  their  long  axis,  he  has  only  to 
make  such  experimental  movements  as  seem  likely  to 
bring  particular  sets  of  muscles  into  play,  and  if  suc- 
cessful the  muscles  of  the  part  in  question  will  be  felt  to 
swell  and  harden.  Repeat  the  movement  over  and  over, 
and  you  develop  the  desired  muscles. 

It  is  not  even  necessary  to  have  apparatus  of  any 
kind  whatever.  Quite  as  good  exercises  as  dumbbells 
or  Indian  clubs  or  pulley  machines  can  give  may  be 
devised  by  merely  clasping  the  hands  together  in  various 
attitudes,  and  attempting  to  move  one  hand  firmly, 
while  the  other  hand  is  made  to  as  firmly  resist  such 
movement.  As  a  single  illustration,  clasp  the  hands 
together  in  front  of  the  chest,  and  alternately  press 
them  firmly  together  (as  if  putting  on  a  very  tight  glove) 
and  pull  them  against  one  another  as  if  trying  to  sep- 
arate them.  Neither  hands,  arms,  nor  shoulders  need 
change  their  position  more  than  a  fraction  of  an  inch 
during  this  procedure,  and  yet  almost  every  muscle  of 
the  arms,  shoulders,  and  chest  is  vigorously  exercised. 

[50] 


SOUND  BODIES 

The  chest  muscles  in  particular,  which  arc  with  most 
persons  greatly  in  need  of  exercise,  and  which  most 
calisthenic  exercises  neglect,  are  most  prominently 
developed  by  this  simple  exercise.  I  know  of  no  other 
single  exercise  that  can  do  so  much  for  the  particular 
muscles  that  most  need  assistance  as  this.  And  the  best 
thing  about  this  exercise  is  its  extreme  simplicity,  in 
virtue  of  which  it  may  be  performed  almost  anywhere 
and  at  any  time — while  you  lie  in  bed,  while  you  are 
walking  or  standing,  or  as  you  lean  back  in  your 
chair  to  rest  a  moment  while  sitting  at  your  desk.  The 
exercise  may  be  varied  and  its  value  increased  by  vary- 
ing the  position  of  the  hands,  as  already  suggested,  by 
placing  them  behind  the  back,  for  example,  and  by 
making  the  direction  of  action  and  resistance  vertical 
instead  of  horizontal.  These  and  numerous  other 
modifications  will  readily  suggest  themselves  to  any 
one  who  undertakes  to  develop  himself  by  this  method. 

It  would  be  hardly  possible  to  overestimate  the  health- 
preservative  value  of  even  so  simple  an  exercise  as  this  if, 
performed  systematically  for,  say,  thirty  minutes  in  the 
aggregate  at  various  intervals  during  the  day,  especially 
if  it  were  combined  with  a  brisk  heel-and-toe  walk,  in 
which  the  legs  were  used  as  propellers,  and  not  as  mere 
pendulums,  as  is  the  wont  of  most  walkers.  The  tone 
which  the  muscles  acquire  will  soon  be  reflected  in  the 
tone  of  the  brain.  Lassitude  will  give  way  to  mental 
vigor,  languor  to  a  sense  of  well-being  (unless,  of  course, 
there  be  some  actual  disease  to  interfere). 

But  the  difficulty  is  that  with  all  these  incentives  to 
keep  up  exercise  few  people  have  the  persistency  to 

[SI] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

persevere  in  this  or  any  other  perfunctory  exercise. 
After  a  spasmodic  effort  they  relapse  into  the  old  con- 
dition of  muscular  flabbiness  and  mental  lethargy. 
Exercising  for  the  mere  sake  of  exercise  is  so  uninter- 
esting a  procedure  that  few  people  will  follow  it  out, 
whatever  its  ultimate  rewards.  An  element  of  interest 
must  be  introduced  if  the  best  results  are  to  be  attained. 

This  element  of  interest  is  furnished  by  the  various 
competitive  sports,  and  this  is  one  essential  point  of 
difference  between  perfunctory  development  of  one's 
muscles  and  development  through  entering  into  games. 
But  there  is  another  and  equally  important  point  of 
difference  in  favor  of  the  games  as  against  the  mere 
caHsthenics.  This  is  that  the  full  educational  value 
of  physical  development  is  only  to  be  secured  through 
competitive  exercises.  Proper  physical  development 
implies  vastly  more  than  mere  muscular  development. 
It  implies  a  trained  muscular  co-ordination  that  is 
essentially  a  brain  development.  Each  group  of  muscles 
can  contract  only  in  a  single  way,  but  different  groups 
may  contract  in  endless  series  of  combinations. 

The  brain,  whose  controUing  influence  makes  such 
co-ordinate  action  possible,  must  be  trained  by  con- 
tact with  other  brains.  Hence  physical  development 
through  athletic  games  has  an  educational  value  that  is 
not  approached  by  development  through  mere  perfunc- 
tory exercises. 

The  person  who  undertakes  to  develop  his  muscles  by 
entering  into  athletic  games  stands  a  good  chance  of 
keeping  at  it  long  enough  to  accomplish  tangible  re- 
sults, because  of  the  interest  in  the  game  itself  which  he 

[52] 


SOUND  BODIES 

soon  develops.  He  then  gets  pleasure  as  well  as  benefit 
from  his  exercise,  and  the  pleasure  adds  direcdy  to  the 
benefit,  for  pleasure  in  itself  has  positive  disease-dis- 
pelling power.  Not  only  will  his  muscles  be  trained, 
but  his  eye  and  his  brain.  He  will  learn  the  value 
of  steady  persistent  effort  as  he  can  hardly  learn  it 
elsewhere.  He  will  be  taught  self-reliance  even  while 
his  egotism  is  kept  healthfully  in  check.  As  his  physical 
movements  become  quick,  graceful,  adapted  to  effect 
their  ends  with  the  least  practicable  expenditure  of 
energy,  his  mental  movements  will  tend  to  keep  pace 
with  the  physical.  In  short,  his  training  in  athletics 
will  bring  about  a  coincident  mental  development 
that  will  stand  him  in  hand  in  the  class-room  or  study, 
and  in  the  practical  affairs  of  life. 

As  to  the  specific  forms  of  athletic  contests,  I  need 
not  speak  in  detail.  If  you  live  in  the  country,  tennis 
and  golf,  supplemented  perhaps  by  rowing  and  riding, 
will  supply  the  means  for  a  splendid  all-round  develop- 
ment. For  the  city-dweller,  these  open-air  sports  are 
for  the  most  part  unavailable ;  for  him  the  gymnasium 
must  take  the  place  of  court  and  links. 

The  best  gymnasium  sports  are  handball,  wrestling, 
and  boxing. 

Each  of  these  calls  into  play  every  set  of  muscles; 
but  it  is  desirable  to  practise  all  three  if  you  would  secure 
an  even  all-round  development.  It  is  well  to  supple- 
ment them  also  with  such  exercises  as  are  supphed  by 
pulleys,  dumb-bells,  horizontal  bars,  and  the  various 
similar  gymnasium  appliances,  and  in  particular  by 

[53] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

the  punching- bag.  The  last-named  contrivance  is  in 
itself  a  fair  substitute  for  a  sparring  partner;  and  it  is 
to  be  particularly  commended  to  women.  Indeed,  the 
punching-bag  stands  in  a  class  quite  by  itself  among 
calisthenic  contrivances,  in  its  almost  human  respon- 
siveness, and  in  the  opportunity  it  affords  for  the  de- 
velopment of  skill  in  its  manipulation. 

Fencing  makes  for  a  somewhat  one-sided  develop- 
ment, and  in  this  regard  at  least  it  is  not  to  be  com- 
pared with  boxing  or  wrestling;  but  it  has  the  merit  of 
being  available  for  both  sexes.  The  fencer  develops 
quickness  of  eye,  and  elasticity  rather  than  strength 
of  muscle ;  these  being  similar  traits  to  those  developed 
by  the  boxer,  and  contrasting  somewhat  with  the 
relatively  sluggish  strength  of  the  wrestler.  A  good 
wrestler  in  action  does  not,  indeed,  suggest  sluggishness 
to  the  casual  observer,  but  there  is  a  qualitative  dif- 
ference between  his  muscular  action  and  that  of  the 
fencer  or  boxer.  No  man  ever  attained  to  actual 
championship  form  both  as  wrestler  and  boxer,  though 
proficients  in  each  "art"  usually  have  some  degree  of 
skill  at  the  other. 

For  the  amateur  in  search  of  health,  wrestling  is,  I 
am  disposed  to  think,  the  best  single  form  of  indoor 
exercise.  It  was  held  in  high  esteem  among  the  an- 
cient Greeks,  being  one  of  the  standard  sports  of  their 
so-called  pentathlon  (the  other  four  being  running, 
jumping,  discus- throwing,  and  hurling  the  javelin), 
and  it  quickly  commends  itself  to  most  modems  who 
give  it  a  trial  under  favorable  conditions.  An  ideal 
hour  in  the  gymnasium  may  well  be  concluded  with  a 

[54] 


SOUND  BODIES 

twenty-minute  contest  on  the  wrestling-mat  (preferably 
at  catch-as-catch-can  style);  the  preceding  forty  min- 
utes having  been  devoted  to  weights  and  pulleys  and 
punching-bag,  and  three  or  four  two-minute  rounds 
with  the  boxing  gloves: — it  being  understood,  of  course, 
that  you  have  worked  up  gradually  to  the  physical 
condition  of  "fitness"  that  will  enable  you  to  carry 
through  such  a  strenuous  hour  without  distress  or  ex- 
haustion. 

Dripping  with  perspiration,  your  skin  aglow,  your 
heart  beating  with  full  vigor,  your  lungs  expanded  to 
their  full  capacity  with  every  breath,  you  step  from  the 
gymnasium  floor  into  a  hot  room;  thence,  five  or  ten 
minutes  later  to  the  spray-bath,  first  of  water  hot  as 
you  can  bear  it,  gradually  toning  down  to  the  coldest 
degree  from  which  your  system  will  react  vigorously. 

Follow  this  with  a  good  massage  or  a  dry  or  alcohol 
rubbing, — and  you  will  step  forth  from  the  gymnasium 
rejuvenated. 

You  may  think  it  difficult  to  find  time  for  such  a 
daily  experiment.  You  will  surely  lack  energy  to 
undertake  it  if  your  muscles  are  out  of  trim.  But 
once  you  have  known  the  benefits  of  such  a  practise, 
you  will  need  no  one  to  tell  you  that  you  save  time  by 
it  in  the  end,  through  adding  infinitely  to  your  sense  of 
well-being,  your  avidity  for  work,  and  your  capacity 
for  sustained  effort. 

But  all  this  must  not  be  taken  to  imply  that  the  field 
of  utility  of  physical  exercises  has  no  bounds.  And 
here,  as  in  so  many  other  instances,  I  cannot  well  leave 

[55] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

the  subject  without  a  counter  word  of  warning.  Most 
good  things  may  become  evils  through  overdoing,  and 
physical  exercise  is  no  exception  to  the  rule.  The 
muscular  system  must  be  allowed  to  operate  sufficiently 
to  keep  it  in  tone,  if  the  organism  is  to  maintain  a  good 
degree  of  health;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  C'/ery 
muscle  must  be  developed  to  its  physiological  limits. 
Indeed  there  is  little  desirability  of  such  extreme 
development;  it  would  often  defeat  the  end  it  aimed 
to  accomplish.  Extreme  development  comes  only 
through  strenuous  efforts,  which  are  very  likely  to  be 
carried  to  such  excess  as  to  put  an  undue  strain  on 
the  heart  muscles,  leading  to  abnormal  enlargement  of 
that  organ.  Such  enlargement  of  the  heart  becomes 
a  menace  to  health,  and  may  be  instrumental  in  short- 
ening the  hfe  of  the  individual. 

Again  the  amount  of  time  required  to  produce  ab- 
solutely complete  muscular  development  would  be  out 
of  all  proportion  to  the  benefits  derived,  for  the  average 
man,  even  were  the  training  so  judiciously  conducted 
that  no  direct  evil  resulted.  A  habit  of  exercising,  or 
the  practise  of  an  athletic  sport,  may  in  this  sense 
become  a  vice.  We  see  this  illustrated  in  the  undue 
devotion  to  football  among  the  students  of  some  of  our 
colleges. 

But  such  abuses  only  illustrate  anew  the  human  pro- 
pensity to  go  to  extremes.  The  number  after  all  of 
those  who  exercise  to  excess,  in  the  hope  of  acquiring 
great  skill,  is  relatively  small;  and  even  these  have  a 
good  influence  in  stimulating  the  interest  of  multitudes 
who  otherwise  might  not  be  led  to  practise  athletics 

[56] 


SOUND  BODIES 

as  much  as  their  health  requires.  If  our  attention  is 
called  vividly  to  the  injury  that  results  to  the  few  from 
excessive  exercise,  we  must  not  overlook  the  vastly 
greater  aggregate  injury  that  results  to  the  many  from 
lack  of  exercise;  emphasizing  the  old  familiar  lesson 
that  between  the  extremes  may  be  found  the  road  to 
health  and  happiness. 


[S7] 


"Education  has  two  branches, — one  of  gymnastic,  which 
is  concerned  with  the  body,  and  the  other  of  music,  which  is 
designed  for  the  improvement  of  the  soul."  — Plato. 

"  The  body  is  the  source  of  endless  trouble  to  us  by  reason 
of  the  mere  requirements  of  food ;  and  also  is  liable  to  diseases 
which  overtake  and  impede  us  in  the  search  after  truth;  and  by 
filling  us  full  of  loves  and  lusts  and  fears  and  fancies  and  idols 
and  every  sort  of  folly  prevents  our  ever  having,  as  people 
say,  so  much  as  a  thought." 

— Socrates  {in  Plato's  Phcedo). 


chapter   IV 
HOW  TO  SLEEP 

"Do  those  things  that  will  not  injure  you;  and  calculate 
before  the  act.  Nor  receive  sleep  upon  your  softened  eyes 
before  you  have  thrice  gone  over  each  act  of  the  day — What 
have  I  passed  by?  What  have  I  done?  What  necessary 
act  has  not  been  done  by  me  ?  And  beginning  from  the  first, 
go  through  them.  And  then,  if  you  have  acted  improperly, 
reproach  yourself;  but  if  properly,  be  glad." 

— From  the  ''Golden  Words "  oj  Pythagoras. 


"  Much  sleep  is  not  required  by  nature,  either  for  our  souls 
or  bodies,  or  for  the  actions  in  which  they  are  concerned.  For 
no  one  who  is  asleep  is  good  for  anything,  any  more  than  if 
he  were  dead;  but  he  of  us  who  has  the  most  regard  for  life 
and  reason  keeps  awake  as  long  as  he  can,  reserving  only  so 
much  time  for  sleep  as  is  expedient  for  health;  and  much 
sleep  is  not  required  if  the  habit  of  not  sleeping  be  once 
formed."  — Plato. 


IV 

HOW  TO  SLEEP 

TO  round  out  our  conception  of  the  needs  of 
the  body,  we  must  turn  from  the  active  to 
the  passive  side.  We  have  considered  such 
functions  as  eating,  drinking,  exercising;  we  must 
now  consider  the  seemingly  passive  function  of  sleeping. 
Sleep  appears  at  first  sight  to  be  merely  a  negative 
state,  a  cessation  of  functioning,  rather  than  itself  a 
function.  It  would  seem,  then,  that  nothing  should  be 
simpler  and  easier  than  to  sleep  properly.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  scarcely  anything  is  more  difficult.  Here  as 
with  all  other  functions  there  may  be  excess,  deficiency, 
or  perversion  of  functioning;  and  scarcely  anywhere 
are  the  penalties  of  wrong  functioning  more  severe 
than  in  the  case  of  sleep.  In  thousands  of  cases  in- 
somnia proves  the  open  door  to  insanity;  while  the 
common  vice  of  excessive  sleeping  lays  a  perpetual  if 
less  tangible  ban  upon  the  mind.  Of  the  two  it  is 
better  to  sleep  too  much  than  too  little,  but  it  is  best  to 
sleep  just  enough.  Nature  demands  a  certain  amount 
of  recuperation  through  sleep.  She  will  not  take  less 
without  severe  penalty.  But  every  hour  in  excess  of 
what  is  needful  is  an  hour  less  of  conscious  life,  an 
hour's  loss  of  opportunities  that  might  perhaps,  in  this 
hurrying  age,  have  turned  the  scale  between  success 

[6i] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF   HAPPINESS 

and  failure.  Every  ambitious  and  thoughtful  person 
must  therefore  turn  with  interest  to  the  practical  ques- 
tion :    How  much  sleep  is  enough  ? 

About  a  century  ago  Benjamin  Franklin  answered 
the  question  categorically: 

"Six  hours  for  a  man,  seven  for  a  woman,  eight  for  a 
fool!" 

Like  most  sweeping  assertions  this  aphorism  will 
not  bear  rigid  inspection.  Franklin  was  evidently 
measuring  other  people's  corn  in  his  own  half-bushel. 
His  aphorism  is  merely  a  bit  of  autobiography;  and  it 
is  interesting  and  instructive  to  know  that  so  brilliant 
a  mind  as  his  required  but  six  hours'  rest  in  twenty-four. 
But  another  man  might,  not  unnaturally,  object  to 
being  classified  according  to  this  formula.  He  would 
simply  transpose  the  words  "man"  and  "fool"  in  the 
formula,  and  find  it  then  highly  satisfactory. 

The  plain  fact  is,  as  everybody  knows  or  ought  to 
know,  that  individuals  differ,  and  that  no  general  rule 
can  be  laid  down  to  cover  all  cases.  Some  men  re- 
quire only  five  hours'  sleep ;  more  require  six,  yet  more 
cannot  be  comfortable  with  less  than  seven;  and  there 
is  a  respectable  modicum  for  whom  one  third  of  the  day 
seems  necessary.  Nor  is  it  demonstrated — to  take 
Franklin's  formula  in  a  literal  sense — that  the  fool 
requires  as  an  average  either  more  or  less  sleep  than  the 
average  normal  being.  The  difference  between  him 
and  the  normal  man  is  not  in  the  length  of  his  day,  but 
in  its  quality.  If  the  normal  man  is  only  half-awake 
during  his  day,  the  fool  is  only  one-tenth  awake. 

It  should  be  added,  however,  that  the  requirements 

[62] 


HOW  TO  SLEEP 

of  the  individual  are  by  no  means  to  be  judged  as  a  rule 
from  his  customs.  A  man  may  habitually  sleep  two 
or  three  hours  longer  than  is  necessary  simply  because 
he  has  acquired  what  I  may  term  slovenly  habits  of 
sleeping.  The  penalty  for  such  indulgence  is  not  only 
loss  of  time,  but  defective  sleep,  into  which  conscious- 
ness constantly  tends  to  enter.  Although  the  brain 
probably  never  becomes  absolutely  quiescent,  and  al- 
though in  consequence  all  sleep  must  be  regarded  as 
theoretically  a  dream-state,  yet  it  is  certain  that  in  pro- 
found natural  slumber  the  energy  of  the  brain  is  at 
such  an  ebb  tide  that  its  functionings  do  not  rise  to  the 
level  even  of  subconsciousness.  Profound  perfectly  nat- 
ural slumber  is  to  the  awakened  consciousness  merely  a 
period  of  absolute  blank.  The  energy  of  mind  has 
simply  sunk  below  the  level  of  consciousness,  and,  in 
the  nature  of  the  case,  while  it  remains  below  that 
level  there  can  be  no  conscious  record  of  its  opera- 
tions. Experience  has  shown  that  in  normal  sleep  the 
neural  energy  (whose  psychic  counterpart  is  mind)  con- 
tinues to  sink  to  yet  lower  levels  from  one  to  two  hours 
after  consciousness  is  lost.  Slumber  is  then  most  pro- 
found. From  this  point  the  potential  energy  gradually 
increases,  like  an  inflowing  tide,  slumber  becoming 
less  and  less  profound,  until  finally  the  level  of  conscious- 
ness is  reached,  and  the  sleeper  awakens. 

That  consciousness  is  really  farther  withdrawn,  if 
I  may  be  permitted  the  expression,  during  the  period 
of  deepest  sleep  than  before  or  after  this  period  admits 
of  no  question.  A  sleeper  is  awakened  at  such  a  time 
with  relative  difficulty,  and  on  awakening  he  is  apt  to 

[63] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

be  confused,  and  to  lapse  again  into  unconsciousness  if 
allowed  to  do  so.  Familiar  illustration  of  this  comes 
within  the  experience  of  most  persons  who  are  often 
aroused  at  night.  The  physician,  for  example,  often 
finds  it  positively  distressing  to  be  aroused  when  he  has 
been  but  a  short  time  asleep,  while  minding  but  little  a 
call  that  comes  later  in  the  night.  A  touch  of  his  bell 
awakens  him  at  either  time  because  his  mind  is  keyed 
constantly  to  responsive  expectancy  in  regard  to  that  one 
sound;  but  from  the  profound  period  of  sleep  he 
awakens  momentarily  confused,  and  perhaps  even 
with  a  feeling  of  tension  amounting  to  pain  in  his 
head,  from  the  sudden  onrush  of  neural  energy;  while 
from  the  less  profound  later  sleep  he  awakens  fully  at 
once,  and  without  sense  of  oppression. 

The  fact  that  the  organism  sinks  to  its  lowest  level 
of  kinetic  energising  so  soon  after  consciousness  is 
lost  has  given  rise  to  the  current  saying  that  "an  hour's 
sleep  before  midnight  is  worth  two  after  midnight"; 
a  statement  that  is  often  true  simply  because  most  people 
retire  one  or  two  hours  before  midnight.  The  middle 
hour  of  the  night,  as  such,  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
matter,  the  fact  being  merely  that  the  first  hours  of 
sleep,  other  things  being  equal,  are  most  profound  and 
hence  most  restful. 

The  mistaken  notion  that  sleep  is  deepest  just  be- 
fore waking,  is  naturahy  linked  with  that  other  sophism 
that  it  is  darkest  just  before  the  dawn.  Each  is  the 
antithesis  of  truth.  If  it  be  true,  as  has  often  been 
alleged,  that  Indians  are  most  successful  in  raiding  a 
camp  just  before  dawn,  it  must  be  because  the  sentry 

[64] 


HOW  TO  SLEEP 

who  has  been  awake  through  the  night  is  more  likely  to 
relax  vigilance  and  fall  asleep  then ;  for  there  can  be  no 
question  that  a  sleeper  who  has  slept  several  hours  is 
constantly  becoming,  under  normal  conditions,  less 
profoundly  unconscious.  He  is  gradually  approach- 
ing the  waking-point.  It  is  true  indeed  that  the  "vital 
energy"  of  the  organism  as  a  whole  is  at  its  lowest  ebb 
in  the  early  morning  hours;  but  the  stored  potential 
energy  of  the  brain  whose  unloosing  results  in  con- 
sciousness, is  under  higher  and  higher  tension  as  the 
period  of  sleep  progresses. 

As  to  the  exact  conditions  existing  in  the  brain  during 
waking  periods  and  during  sleep,  much  is  conjectural. 
In  general  terms,  however,  it  seems  tolerably  certain 
that  consciousness  is  the  result  of  destructive  chemical 
processes  in  the  brain.  Along  with  this  destructive 
action,  it  is  assumed  that  constructive  or  reparative 
processes  are  also  in  operation.  But  it  is  further  as- 
sumed that  during  waking  hours  the  destruction  ex- 
ceeds the  repair;  and  that  hence  arises  the  necessity 
for  periodical  epochs  of  sleep,  during  which  the  de- 
structive processes  shall  be  in  excess.  The  brain  con- 
sidered as  an  organ  of  thought  must  be,  as  it  were, 
closed  for  repairs  at  pretty  regular  intervals.  In  this 
view,  consciousness  is  present  so  long  as  the  destructive 
physical  changes  in  the  brain  are  in  excess,  and  sleep 
is  the  period  during  which  recuperative  processes  are 
paramount.  It  would  be  hard  to  demonstrate  that 
this  statement  represents  the  exact  facts,  but  as  a 
general  proposition  it  is  no  doubt  sufficiently  ac- 
curate. 

665] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF   HAPPINESS 

There  is  a  third  condition,  however,  which  thrusts 
itself  upon  the  attention ;  an  intermediate  state  of  mental 
activity  which  is  not  strictly  speaking  conscious,  though 
recalled  and  reproduced  by  waking  consciousness. 
This  intermediate  period  is  called  the  dream-state. 
It  is  open  to  question  whether  the  dream  is  a  normal 
phenomenon,  but  it  is  so  slightly  abnormal  at  most, 
and  so  universal  an  experience  that  it  cannot  be  over- 
looked in  a  general  discussion. 

What  then  is  a  dream  ? 

To  the  best  of  our  knowledge,  a  dream  is  the  result 
of  an  isolated  or  partial  activity  of  the  brain,  at  a  time 
when  the  general  level  of  cerebral  energising  is  below 
the  level  of  consciousness.  During  waking  hours,  one 
or  another  set  of  brain  cells  is  always  most  active,  but 
these  cells  are  always  co-ordinated  with  other  sets 
that  are  also  active,  the  result  being  that  consciousness 
is  never  a  single  train  of  thought,  but  a  series  of  rela- 
tively vivid  ideas  placed  in  a  setting  of  less  vivid  ideas. 
The  subsidiary  ideas  furnish  the  mind  its  perspective 
or  vista — its  "third  dimension" — and  they  are  a  con- 
stant and  necessary  corrective  in  enabling  the  organ- 
ism to  judge  rationally  of  its  true  relation  to  its  environ- 
ment. The  absence,  or  very  great  restriction,  of  such 
mental  perspective,  due  to  the  general  inactivity  of  the 
brain,  is  the  essential  difference  between  the  dream 
and  waking  consciousness.  It  is  for  this  reason  that 
the  ideas  of  the  dream  have  such  seeming  thraldom 
over  the  mind.  The  most  grotesque  creature  of  the 
imagination,  appearing  during  sleep,  and  hence  without 
a  vista  of  corrective  ideas,  imposes  itself  on  the  mind 

[66] 


HOW  TO  SLEEP 

as  a  frightful  reality,  which  perhaps  will  not  vanish  till 
other  channels  of  the  brain  have  been  aroused  to  ac- 
tivity, bringing  consciousness  with  its  wide  range  of 
corrective  perceptions  and  memories. 

If,  as  we  thus  assume,  the  dream  is  the  mental  ac- 
companiment of  all  inco-ordinate  activity  of  the  brain, 
it  is  important  to  know  what  causes  such  ill-timed  and 
ill-adjusted  activity.  Like  all  other  organic  activities, 
it  is  a  response  to  external  stimuli.  But  these  stimuli 
may  be  in  operation  at  the  moment  or  may  have  operated 
during  the  period  of  waking  to  produce  mental  anxieties 
that  will  not  now  allow  the  brain  to  sink  into  profound 
restfulness.  Stimuli  that  act  directly  are  unusual 
sounds,  the  noxious  air  of  a  badly  ventilated  room,  a 
cramped  condition  of  a  member  of  the  body,  irritative 
conditions  of  the  digestive  organs,  and  the  like.  In  the 
present  sense,  any  portion  of  the  body  outside  the  skull 
may  furnish  an  external  stimulus  to  the  brain;  and 
the  stimuli  which  produce  dreams  probably  come  most 
often  from  within  the  organism. 

It  is  evident  that  the  condition  of  the  brain  itself  will 
largely  determine  the  exact  result  of  any  disturbing 
stimulus  that  may  come  from  any  source  during  sleep. 
During  profound  sleep,  a  very  active  stimulus  may  fail 
to  produce  a  response  sufficient  to  be  recorded  in  a 
dream;  while  later  on,  after  the  brain  has  partially 
recuperated,  a  much  lighter  stimulus  may  serve  to 
introduce  a  series  of  dreams.  It  must  be  obvious, 
too,  that  during  the  later  hours  of  sleep,  when  the  entire 
brain  is  nearer  the  waking-point,  activity  of  any  isolated 
brain  tract  will  tend  to  spread  to  other  tracts,  thus 

[67] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

widening  the  mental  view,  and  giving  background  or 
comprehensiveness  to  the  dream. 

Other  things  being  equal,  then,  dreams  will  not  only 
be  more  frequent  during  the  morning  hours,  but  such 
dreams  will  more  nearly  approach  the  range  of  ideas 
of  waking  consciousness  than  the  dreams  of  earlier 
hours.  That  this  is  the  fact,  almost  anyone  can  dem- 
onstrate to  his  own  satisfaction  by  allowing  himself 
to  fall  asleep  again  after  his  usual  time  for  arising. 
He  will  then  sleep  very  hghtly,  and  the  images  that  flit 
before  his  mind  will  be  so  wide  in  range,  so  similar  to 
the  images  of  a  waking  reverie,  as  sometimes  to  make 
him  uncertain,  when  he  again  awakens,  whether  he  has 
really  been  asleep.  At  such  a  time  there  is  little  dan- 
ger of  the  appearance  of  those  grotesque  and  dis- 
proportionate images  without  background— so-called 
*' nightmares" — which  sometimes  intrude  themselves 
upon  the  deep  sleeper. 

But  whether  it  comes  early  or  late,  and  whether  vivid 
or  vague,  painful  or  pleasurable,  the  dream  must  be 
looked  upon  as  a  discordant  element  in  the  mental 
cycle.  Anyone  who  dreams  habitually  is  not  sleeping 
to  the  best  advantage.  The  brain  which  is  partially 
active  when  it  should  be  everywhere  quiescent  is  not 
being  repaired  as  rapidly  as  might  be.  Of  course  a 
certain  amount  of  disturbance  is  unavoidable  under 
ordinary  conditions  of  living.  Nature  kindly  withdraws 
the  light,  and  with  it  visual  stimuli,  but  noises  are  not 
so  readily  suppressed.  Fortunately,  however,  the 
brain  soon  learns  to  adjust  itself  to  noises  that  are  con- 
stant or  that  recur  regularly.     The  passing  of  trains, 

[68] 


HOW  TO   SLEEP 

the  ringing  of  bells,  the  blowing  of  whistles,  and  the 
like,  do  not  disturb  the  sleeper  after  they  have  been 
regularly  experienced  for  a  little  time,  and  all  such 
sounds  may  be  practically  disregarded  in  considering 
the  therapeutics  of  sleep. 

The  brain  cannot  guard  fully  against  unusual  and 
hence  unexpected  sounds,  and  in  almost  any  environ- 
ment these  furnish  an  occasional  disturbing  factor 
against  which  there  is  no  direct  safeguard.  But  they 
will  disturb  the  sound  sleeper  far  less  than  the  hght 
sleeper,  and  will  not  ordinarily  annoy  one  who  has 
acquired  good  habits  of  sleeping.  The  sleep  of  a  tired 
boy  illustrates  how  fully  the  brain  may  be  withdrawn 
from  responsive  accord  with  the  outer  world,  and 
furnishes  an  object  in  truly  profound  and  recuperative 
sleeping.  You  might  discharge  a  gun  over  him  with- 
out fully  arousing  him.  Even  if  he  stirs  and  partially 
awakens,  he  will  relapse  at  once  into  a  deep  sleep,  and 
the  intruding  stimulus  will  probably  not  be  remembered 
even  as  a  dream.  And  the  sleep  of  an  adult  who  has 
retained  the  good  habits  of  sleeping  which  almost 
everyone  has  in  childhood,  will  be  comparable  to  this. 
He  will  not  require  so  much  sleep  as  the  child,  be- 
cause he  has  only  to  make  up  the  waste  of  the  previous 
day  while  the  child  must  make  up  his  day's  waste  and 
add  an  increment  for  growth.  But  if  the  adult  takes 
only  what  sleep  he  really  needs,  and  takes  it  in  a  per- 
fectly normal  way,  his  period  of  sleep  will  be  approxi- 
mately as  profound  as  that  of  the  child. 

That  very  few  adults  have  perfect  habits  of  sleeping, 
goes  without  saying;  that  such  habits  are  to  be  desired 

[69] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

requires  no  argument.  But  how  may  they  be  acquired  ? 
This  is  the  question  to  which  all  the  previous  discussion 
has  been  preparatory. 

Bearing  in  mind  always  the  fact  that  each  individual 
must  be  in  some  measure  a  law  unto  himself  in  this 
matter,  I  shall  attempt  to  formulate  a  few  practical 
suggestions  in  such  general  terms  as  will  apply  to  all 
alike.  By  good  habits  of  sleeping  I  mean  such  habits 
as  will  enable  the  organism  to  recuperate  most  fully 
in  the  shortest  time,  it  being  assumed  that  waking 
hours  are  valuable  and  to  be  coveted. 

But  this  must  not  be  interpreted  as  meaning  that  we 
are  to  attempt  to  reduce  the  period  of  sleep  always  to 
some  fixed  minimum  number  of  hours.  People  differ 
from  one  another  too  much  to  make  that  possible.  Each 
individual  should  strive  to  find  what  is  his  own  mini- 
mum period  of  necessary  sleep,  and  be  governed 
accordingly. 

Remember  always  that  it  is  better  to  sleep  eight 
hours  if  necessary  and  begin  the  day  with  a  mind  really 
refreshed,  than  to  attempt  to  get  along  with  less  than 
is  needed.  A  fully  refreshed  mind  will  accomplish' 
more  in  sixteen  hours  than  the  same  mind  unrefreshed 
could  accomplish  in  eighteen. 

It  is  worse  than  folly  to  train  oneself  to  arise  at  five 
o'clock  if  the  mind  is  not  ready  to  begin  the  day's  work 
of  thinking  at  that  hour.  Better  sleep  on  till  eight 
or  nine  if  that  much  rest  be  necessary  to  bring  the 
mind  to  its  best  level  of  working  efficiency.  An  hour 
added  to  the  thinking  day  is  a  valuable  hour  only  when 

[70] 


HOW  TO   SLEEP 

it  takes  nothing  from  the  working  efficiency  of  the 
other  hours. 

By  all  means  then  take  as  many  hours  of  sleep  as  are 
needed,  regardless  of  the  number  that  suffice  for  some 
other  person. 

The  chief  difficulty  in  determining  the  necessary 
period  in  any  given  case,  results  from  the  irregularities 
of  living  that  enter  into  almost  all  our  lives.  Civiliza- 
tion imposes  many  artificial  conditions  upon  the  indi- 
vidual, but  in  no  respect  more  than  regarding  this 
matter  of  sleep.  Man  is  a  diurnal  animal.  Under 
strictly  natural  conditions,  his  hours  of  sleep  would  be 
regulated  very  largely  by  the  rising  and  setting  of  the 
sun.  But  artificial  lights  emancipate  us  from  so  oner- 
ous a  bondage,  and  the  evolution  of  our  race  has  carried 
us  so  far  from  strictly  natural  conditions,  that  no  one 
would  now  think  of  arguing  that  it  would  be  necessary 
or  even  best  to  regulate  our  sleeping  hours  according  to 
any  such  obsolete  standard. 

Even  the  dictum  "early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise"  is 
obsolescent.  There  are  as  many  hours  from  twelve 
to  eight  as  from  ten  to  six,  and  while  the  earlier  set 
has  some  inherent  advantages,  it  has  not  been  demon- 
strated that  the  later  set  is  incapable  of  doing  the 
same  work  and  doing  it  just  as  well  if  put  to  the  test. 
For  persons  living  under  the  ordinary  conditions  of 
city  life,  I  make  bold  to  affirm  the  conviction  that  the 
later  series  is  a  better  one  than  the  earlier.  And  why  ? 
Because  under  such  conditions  of  living  it  happens  to 
most  people  that  two  or  three  evenings  in  a  week  will 
be  lengthened  to  something  near  the  later  hour  by 

[71] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

opera,  theatre,  or  other  pleasure  gathering,  thus  break- 
ing in  on  any  habit  of  earher  retiring  if  such  were 
formed;  and  because  regularity  is  the  keynote  of  suc- 
cess in  acquiring  good  habits  of  sleeping.  A  person 
who  retires  to-night  at  ten,  to-morrow  night  at  twelve, 
the  next  at  nine,  and  so  on  through  the  week  can  scarcely 
be  said  to  have  any  habits  of  sleeping.  He  simply  ful- 
fils the  imperative  function  of  sleeping  because  he  must, 
and  when  he  may.  While  such  customs  are  con- 
tinued he  can  never  know  how  much  sleep  he  really 
requires,  nor  how  to  secure  it  to  best  advantage. 

The  first  pre-requisite  to  acquiring  good  habits  of 
sleeping  is,  then,  to  accustom  oneself  to  retiring  at  a 
fixed  and  definite  time.  A  very  difficult  prescription, 
it  may  be  said;  but  a  necessary  one.  If  you  must  re- 
main up  till  twelve,  half  or  even  one-third  of  your  days, 
let  your  regular  hour  for  retiring  be  twelve  every  night. 
If  your  business  hours  begin  at  such  time  in  the  morning 
that  this  will  not  allow  you  time  enough  for  sleep,  then 
there  is  something  radically  wrong  with  your  system 
of  living.  You  are  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends 
and  ill-health  will  be  the  penalty.  You  must  curtail 
your  day  at  one  end  or  the  other,  preferably  at  the 
night  end  if  you  can  so  arrange  it. 

But  whatever  the  hour  most  expedient  for  retiring, 
once  selected  let  it  be  adhered  to  rigorously.  By  so 
doing  you  will  teach  your  brain  not  to  expect  sleep  till 
that  time;  and  what  is  quite  as  important,  to  expect 
it  at  that  time.  This  accomplished,  the  first  and  per- 
haps most  important  lesson  in  sound  sleeping  has  been 

[72] 


HOW  TO  SLEEP 

learned.  And  it  is  marvellous  what  a  power  a  fixed 
habit  has  over  the  organism.  He  need  little  fear  in- 
somnia who  has  taught  his  brain  to  expect  rest  at  a 
fixed  and  definite  hour  each  night.  Of  course  a  man 
cannot  become  an  actual  automaton;  but  the  more 
closely  he  adheres  to  a  definite  minute  in  this  matter, 
the  more  efficient,  other  things  being  equal,  will  be 
his  sleep  in  recuperating  a  tired  brain. 

So  far  so  good.  Going  to  bed  is  a  voluntary  process; 
but  to  retire  is  not  necessarily  to  sleep.  What  if  the 
mind  prefers  to  go  on  with  its  conscious  action  ?  This, 
it  may  be  confidently  said,  is  a  matter  that  in  time  will 
regulate  itself.  When  good  habits  of  sleeping  have 
been  acquired,  the  head  will  scarcely  touch  the  pillow 
before  consciousness  will  disappear,  only  to  come 
again  at  a  fixed  and  definite  time  next  morning.  But 
of  course  while  one  is  acquiring  the  habit,  and  as  an  aid 
to  that  end,  one  may  need  to  resort  to  various  soporific 
expedients.  Of  drugs  I  shall  say  nothing.  Those  are 
for  your  physician  to  prescribe  to  meet  the  individual 
indications  of  your  case,  if  you  need  them  at  all,  as  is 
unlikely.     But  I  may  refer  to  some  minor  expedients. 

Good  sleeping,  in  the  first  instance,  is  the  converse 
side  of  active  waking  mentality.  The  brain  does  not 
need  repairing  till  it  is  worn.  In  certain  forms  of 
melancholia  the  patient  scarcely  sleeps  at  all  for  weeks 
together,  because  his  brain  is  scarcely  called  upon  to 
functionate,  mentality  being  sluggish  to  the  point  of 
stupor.  The  patient  does  not  sleep,  but  neither  can 
he  be  said  to  be  fully  awake ;  his  mind  is  at  a  dead  level 

[73] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

of  dazed  half-consciousness.  He  performs  no  mental 
operation  that  presupposes  more  than  the  slightest 
neural  activity. 

Similarly,  a  normal  person  whose  mental  life  is 
listless,  shifting  lightly  from  one  field  to  another,  and 
fixing  intently  nowhere,  may  so  little  exhaust  his  brain 
that  it  does  not  demand  rest  with  the  imperativeness 
of  a  well-used  brain.  Such  a  person's  prescription  for 
sleeping  is  to  use  the  mind  more  actively  during  the 
day. 

But  again  there  are  cases  of  exactly  the  opposite 
kind,  in  which  the  brain  becomes  so  wrought  up  through 
active  exertion  that  it  refuses  to  become  quiescent 
when  the  hour  for  sleep  has  come.  It  should  be  said 
that  this  is  likely  to  result  from  emotional  over-activity, 
rather  than  from  strictly  intellectual;  and  that  when  it 
occurs  habitually  from  the  latter  the  organism  is  bor- 
dering closely  upon  disease.  An  obvious  remedy  is 
to  devote  the  later  hours  of  the  evening,  before  retiring, 
to  light  and  recreative  mental  operations,  such  as 
ordinary  conversation  or  "light"  reading,  physical 
measures  being  attended  to  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Of  the  latter,  taking  a  warm  bath  at  bed-time,  or  drink- 
ing a  glass  of  warm  milk  are  often  efhcient. 

Numberless  mental  expedients  have  been  suggested 
as  aids  to  sleep  for  the  active  mind ;  such  as  imagining  a 
flock  of  sheep  passing  through  a  gate;  counting  indefi- 
nitely; repeating  a  phrase  over  and  over.  The  radical 
defect  of  most  of  these  suggestions  is  that  they  imply  a 
focalisation  of  attention  upon  something,  even  though 
it  be  a  very  uninteresting  something,  and  that  such  con- 

[74] 


HOW  TO   SLEEP 

centration  of  attention  tends  to  defeat  the  object  it  is 
intended  to  accomplish.  A  far  better  expedient  in  my 
experience  than  any  other  I  have  seen  suggested  is  this : 

Challenge  systematically  any  line  of  thought  that  ap- 
pears, and  banish  it  from  consciousness.  The  thing 
is  not  difiEicult  for  a  disciplined  mind.  You  have 
simply  to  vov^  mentally  as  you  find  yourself  thinking 
on  any  subject,  'T  will  not  think  about  that,"  and  as 
it  were  you  shut  off  the  current  in  that  direction.  Of 
course  through  association  your  mind  is  instantly  sup- 
plied with  some  other  Hne  of  thought ;  but  this  also  you 
challenge  in  the  same  way  as  soon  as  it  appears,  and  so 
on  as  long  as  you  are  conscious.  You  thus  prevent 
any  single  Hne  of  thought  from  becoming  paramount 
in  consciousness,  and  one  line  after  another  being  sub- 
ordinated, the  tendency  is  to  a  lower  and  lower  level  of 
mental  activity,  till  presently  consciousness  is  lost.  It 
is  possible  for  some  persons  to  put  themselves  to  sleep 
voluntarily  in  this  way  at  any  time  when  they  choose 
even  during  the  day  and  in  the  midst  of  most  active 
thinking.  The  boon  which  such  an  accomplishment 
furnishes  a  tired  brain  on  occasion,  makes  the  acquisi- 
tion of  this  power  well  worth  the  effort. 

Consciousness  withdrawn,  of  course  the  mind  be- 
comes a  strictly  passive  factor.  If  ill-adjusted  currents 
flit  through  the  brain,  lifting  the  mind  to  the  sub- 
conscious level  of  dreamland,  there  is  no  immediate  re- 
dress. When  we  fully  understand  that  dreams  are 
the  result  of  disturbing  stimuli  from  without  the  brain, 
we  may  often  do  much  to  prevent  their  recurrence. 
Attention  to  the  general  bodily  condition ;  a  well  venti- 

[75] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

lated  sleeping  apartment,  from  which  disturbing  sounds 
are  as  far  as  possible  excluded;  proper  coverings,  and 
the  like  are  almost  axiomatic  expedients.  But  especial 
attention  should  be  paid  to  the  digestive  system.  All 
impulses  from  all  the  organs  in  the  body  are  recorded 
in  the  brain,  even  if  not  within  the  ken  of  conscious- 
ness; and  during  sleep,  when  most  other  stimuli  are 
withdrawn,  these  ''organic"  impulses  assume  greater 
relative  importance.  If  then  at  this  time  the  diges- 
tive system  is  forced  to  undue  activity,  as  by  the  in- 
gestion of  hearty  food  shortly  before  retiring,  its  opera- 
tions are  almost  sure  to  be  registered  in  the  brain  with 
disturbing  force. 

A  misunderstanding  has  arisen  regarding  this  mat- 
ter from  the  fact  that  milk  or  other  easily-digestible 
food  is  often  prescribed  at  bed-time  for  the  relief  of 
insomnia,  or  in  case  of  patients  of  impaired  vitality. 
But  the  food  is  given  in  these  cases  for  a  strictly  thera- 
peutic effect;  it  being  sought  with  its  aid  to  withdraw 
blood  from  the  head  to  the  stomach  in  the  case  of  in- 
somnia and  to  furnish  pabulum  for  continued  repair  of 
wasted  tissues  in  the  neurasthenic  patient.  It  is  a 
temporary  expedient  in  each  case,  to  meet  a  particular 
indication;  and  even  then  the  food  given  is  small  in 
quantity  and  of  digestible  quality.  The  patient  who 
is  benefited  by  this  measure  would  find  it  disastrous  to 
eat  a  hearty  meal  before  retiring,  and  even  persons  in 
health  cannot  do  so  with  impunity. 

For  persons  in  ordinary  health,  it  is  better  that  the 
stomach  should  be  empty  when  the  period  of  sleep  is 
entered  upon,   provided  that  a  sufficient  amount  of 

[76] 


HOW  TO   SLEEP 

nourishment  to  supply  pabulum  for  repair  has  been 
taken  a  few  hours  earlier.  This  pabulum,  already 
digested,  is  then  beginning  to  enter  the  circulatory  sys- 
tem, and  the  repair  of  the  tissues  can  go  on  with  the 
least  possible  organic  disturbance. 

It  scarcely  needs  saying  that  these  and  all  other  ex- 
pedients will  fail  of  effect  in  producing  profound  and 
restful  sleep  in  persons  of  a  certain  temperament, 
who  are  constantly  harassed  and  worried  by  the 
ordinary  incidents  of  every-day  existence.  These  will 
carry  their  mental  worriments  even  into  sleep,  if  in- 
deed they  are  able  to  sleep  at  all,  and  intrinsic  stimuli 
of  the  brain  itself  will  suffice  to  keep  the  disturbing 
currents  operative.  Such  must  turn  to  their  philosophy 
of  living  to  find  the  root  of  their  malady. 

As  to  the  time  of  awaking  from  a  properly  con- 
ducted period  of  sleep,  that  also  is  to  be  prescribed  by 
habit,  and  should  become  quite  as  fixed  and  definite 
as  the  time  of  retiring.  It  is  marvellous  what  an  accu- 
rate alarm-clock  the  mind  becomes  when  trained.  It  is 
better,  however,  not  to  test  it  in  this  regard  while  ac- 
quiring good  habits  of  sleeping.  If  on  retiring  you  re- 
solve to  awaken  at  five  on  the  morrow,  you  will  probably 
do  so,  but  your  mind  will  be  kept  unduly  active  during 
the  night.  It  is  better  to  trust  to  objective  alarm-clocks 
and  not  to  burden  the  mind  with  any  special  task  in 
the  absence  of  consciousness.  After  the  proper  method 
of  sleep  for  the  individual  has  been  determined  and  for 
a  time  practised,  the  mind  will  become  active  almost 
at  a  given  minute  each  morning,  through  the  vigilance 

[77] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

of  the  ever  present  guardian,  Habit.  In  determining 
just  what  minute  this  shall  be,  each  individual  must 
experiment  upon  himself. 

Having  fixed  upon  an  hour  for  retiring,  you  must 
next  determine  at  what  hour  you  will  arise.  Remem- 
bering that  very  few  people  indeed  can  get  along  to  ad- 
vantage with  less  than  six  hours'  sleep,  and  that  very 
many  require  fully  eight,  you  may  perhaps  as  well  be- 
gin with  seven.  If  experiment,  lasting  through  a 
period  of  at  least  two  weeks,  shows  this  to  be  too  short 
a  period  of  sleep,  the  time  must  of  course  be  lengthened. 
If,  on  the  other  hand,  it  proves  fully  sufficient,  the  period 
may  be  shortened  tentatively;  but  most  persons  will 
find  that  about  seven  hours  is  their  minimum  require- 
ment, at  any  rate  until  they  have  learned  to  sleep  very 
soundly  indeed. 

The  test  as  to  whether  one  has  had  sufficient  sleep 
of^the  right  kind  is  to  awaken  refreshed  and  full  of  energy 
for  the  day's  work,  and  to  carry  this  energy,  making 
reasonable  allowance  for  the  healthful  fatigue  of  ener- 
getic action,  throughout  the  period  of  waking. 

Passing  quickly  through  that  period  of  reverie  that 
precedes  the  full  inflowing  of  consciousness  on  awaken- 
ing, one  should  feel  suffused  with  a  sense  of  well-being, 
a  vitalising  consciousness  of  being  "awake  for  all  day," 
and  should  find  himself  impelled  to  the  duties  of  the 
hour  with  eager  enthusiasm,  not  dragged  with  reluc- 
tance as  poor  sleepers  usually  are. 

Yet  I  suppose  the  mass  of  humanity  never  learn  even 
to  get  out  of  bed  properly  and  easily,  notwithstanding 
daily  practise.     The  seductive  morning  doze — almost 

[78] 


HOW  TO  SLEEP 

the  worst  of  mental  habits— captures  the  great  major- 
ity. For  the  person  who  wishes  to  use  his  mind  to  the 
best  advantage  it  is  a  snare  and  a  delusion.  Dozing 
after  the  brain  has  been  fully  recuperated  implies  a 
kind  of  half  activity  that  brings  little  or  no  refreshment. 
If  indulged  habitually,  the  organism,  quick  always  to 
acquire  indolent  habits,  soon  comes  to  expect  to  re- 
cuperate its  forces  in  this  dilly-dallying  way;  and  as 
a  result  the  entire  period  of  sleep  becomes  less  pro- 
found, and  more  and  more  invaded  by  disturbing  dreams. 
Perhaps  nine  hours  are  regularly  taken  for  an  amount  of 
recuperation  that  might  be  accomplished  to  better  ad- 
vantage in  seven;  the  creative  mind  thus  surrendering 
two  hours  a  day  of  its  invaluable  time  to  the  useless 
indulgence  of  an  indolent  body. 

Moreover,  it  may  be  questioned  whether  something 
of  the  same  languor  of  action  that  marks  the  state  of 
sleep  does  not  also  invade  waking  hours;  whether,  in 
short,  such  an  organism  ever  comes  to  be  quite  as  wide 
awake  as  it  would  be  were  its  habits  of  recuperation  more 
energetic.  The  actions  of  the  body  as  a  whole  are 
usually  consistent,  and  if  its  constructive  neural  proc- 
esses are  carried  on  languidly  it  is  probable  that  the 
destructive  processes  will  be  equally  languid.  Let 
anyone  who  is  accustomed  to  sleep  soundly  and  to 
arise  at  once  on  awaking  test  the  matter  by  dozing  for 
an  hour  or  two  some  morning  after  his  usual  time  for 
arising.  He  will  find,  I  think,  that  he  has  not  added  to 
the  working  efficiency  of  the  day  by  so  doing. 

Be  it  understood,  however,  that  this  applies  only  to 
dozing  in  the  morning,  after  the  brain  has  had  its  full 

[79] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

necessary  period  of  rest,  and  when  it  is  really  ready 
for  active  exertion.  A  short  "nap"  later  in  the  day, 
after  the  brain  has  been  for  several  hours  intensely 
active,  is  quite  another  matter.  There  are  some  per- 
sons who,  either  from  intense  activity  of  mind,  or  be- 
cause of  lack  of  initial  vitality,  cannot  seem  to  store 
enough  energy  to  carry  them  through  sixteen  or  eigh- 
teen hours  of  continuous  mental  activity.  Such  per- 
sons may  be  enormously  benefited  by  a  nap,  usually 
of  not  more  than  a  half-hour's  duration,  at  mid-day. 
Even  so  brief  a  period  of  sleep  as  this  often  suffices  to 
wash  out  the  waste  products  of  activity,  and  bring  the 
brain  to  a  plane  of  recuperation  that  will  enable  it  to 
act  efficiently  during  the  remainder  of  the  period  of 
waking. 

As  a  rule,  however,  where  the  brain  is  not  asked  to  do 
more  work  than  it  can  healthfully  accomplish,  a  single 
period  of  sleep  of  the  right  duration  and  intensity  is  all 
that  the  organism  requires  in  the  twenty-four  hours. 
He  whose  brain  has  been  taught  to  ask  for  such  re- 
freshment at  a  given  interval  and  to  partake  of  it  fully 
and  eagerly,  knowing  that  its  time  for  recuperation  is 
only  just  so  long,  has  not  only  taken  an  important 
step  toward  warding  off  insomnia  and  the  diseases 
that  attend  it,  but  has  attained  a  most  advantageous 
mental  coign  of  vantage  from  which  to  sally  forth  upon 
the  battle  of  life.  His  estimate  of  the  ideal  of  hap- 
piness will  be  truer  and  saner;  his  chance  of  attaining 
that  ideal  will  be  vastly  enhanced. 


[80] 


Part   II 

MENTAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE  PROBLEM 
OF  HAPPINESS 


"The  wealth  of  mind  is  the  only  true  wealth;    the  rest 
of  things  have  more  of  pain  than  pleasure." 

— Lucian,  in  the  Greek  Anthology. 


Chapter    V 

HOW  TO  SEE  AND    REMEMBER 

"Memory  and  Oblivion,  all  hail!     Memory  for  the  good; 
Oblivion  for  the  evil,"  — The  Greek  Anthology. 


"Men  err  in  their  choice  of  good  and  evil,  that  is,  in 
their  choice  of  pleasures  and  pains,  from  defect  of  knowl- 
edge." —Plato. 


V 

HOW  TO  SEE  AND  REMEMBER 

THERE  is  perhaps  no  other  mental  endow- 
ment that  seems  to  give  such  direct  and 
tangible  evidence  of  mental  power  as  the 
possession  of  an  unusual  memory.  Records  of  ex- 
ceptional mnemonic  powers  always  excite  interest  and 
wonderment.  It  is  little  less  than  appalling  to  the 
man  of  average  memory  to  listen  to  some  of  the  tales 
that  pass  current  in  this  connection. 

We  are  assured,  for  example,  that  Caesar  knew  by 
name  many  thousands  of  the  soldiers  of  his  legions; 
that  Beethoven  could  memorize  a  most  difficult  and  com- 
plex piece  of  music  by  hearing  it  once  or  twice ;  that  a 
certain  librarian  knows  the  exact  shelf -location,  as  well 
as  the  title  and  author,  of  every  book  among  the  tens  of 
thousands  in  the  library  of  which  he  has  charge;  that 
Beronicius  of  Middleburgh  knew  by  heart  the  works 
of  Virgil,  Cicero,  Juvenal,  Homer,  Aristophanes,  and 
the  two  Plinys;  and  that  Macaulay  could  repeat  the 
whole  of  the  "Iliad"  or  of  "Paradise  Lost"  off-hand, 
and  could  converse  fluently  in  "numberless"  tongues. 

Again  we  are  told  that  Leibnitz,  "in  order  to  im- 
press upon  his  memory  what  he  had  a  mind  to  remem- 
ber, wrote  it  down  and  never  read  it  afterwards;"  and 
that  Viscount  Bolingbroke  "retained  whatever  he  read 
in  so  singular  a  manner  as  to  make  it  entirely  his  own," 
so  that  "in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life  he  did  not  read 

[85] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

much,  or  at  least  many  books,  for  which  he  used  to 
give  the  same  reason  that  Menage  gave  for  not  reading 
Moreri's  Dictionary,  namely,  that  '  he  was  unwilling  to 
fill  his  head  with  what  did  not  belong  there,  since,  when 
it  was  once  in,  he  knew  not  how  to  get  it  out  again.'" 

Contrast  all  this  with  the  case  of  the  average  man, 
who  sometimes  forgets  the  names  of  his  personal  friends; 
who  requires  a  week  to  memorise  a  single  tune;  who 
can  not  tell  just  where  to  find  the  volumes  of  his  own 
little  library;  whose  stock  of  quotations  is  limited  to 
about  a  score  of  couplets;  who  spends  a  lifetime  try- 
ing to  learn  to  speak  two  or  three  languages;  who 
makes  notes  expecting  to  consult  them,  and  then  for- 
gets what  he  has  done  with  the  notes;  and  whose  chief 
concern  is,  not  how  to  get  rubbish  out  of  his  head,  but 
how  to  keep  anything  in.  This  average  man,  himself 
making  the  contrast  between  those  vise-like  memories 
and  his  own  feeble  and  yielding  equipment,  may  not 
unlikely  be  disposed  to  feel  that  Nature  has  dealt  un- 
kindly with  hm.  Nevertheless  he  may  find  crumbs  of 
comfort  if  he  search  for  them. 

It  is  gratifying,  for  example,  to  be  told  by  so  great  an 
authority  as  Sir  William  Hamilton  that  a  too  retentive 
memory  interferes  with  clearness  of  thinking  by  pre- 
senting too  many  conflicting  details  and  thus  bringing 
confusion.  It  is  cheering,  too,  to  reflect  that  before 
the  advent  of  general  culture  through  the  invention  of 
printing,  everybody  carried  all  his  knowledge  at  his 
tongue's  end.  Phenomenal  memories  were  then  as 
common  as  the  lack  of  them  is  at  present ;  yet  no  one 
pretends  that  these  great  memories  pre-supposed  or  pro- 

[86] 


HOW  TO   SEE  AND  REMEMBER 

duced  great  minds.  Then  it  is  a  positive  boon  to  have 
a  man  appear  now  and  then  like  the  one  who  appHed  for 
the  position  of  interpreter  in  New  York  recently,  who 
can  speak  nine  languages  fluently,  and  has  not  general 
mental  capacity  enough  to  learn  to  write  even  in  one 
language. 

Or  looking  at  the  matter  from  a  slightly  different 
aspect,  it  is  pleasing  to  consider  the  mnemonic  deficien- 
cies of  some  men  of  confessedly  great  mentality.  The 
matchless  Newton,  we  are  assured,  after  working  out  an 
elaborate  mathematical  calculation,  could  not  remember 
how  he  had  accomplished  it.  And  Huxley  is  reported 
to  have  said  that  he  had  no  verbal  memory,  and  could 
not  repeat  half  a  dozen  quotations  of  any  kind  verbatim. 

After  considering  such  seemingly  contradictory  phases 
of  the  subject,  one  naturally  feels  doubtful  as  to  the 
status  of  memory,  and  is  not  certain  whether  to  deplore 
or  rejoice  over  the  fact  that  his  own  memory  is  defective. 
The  key  to  the  situation  is  found  in  the  fact  that  very 
few  people  have  ever  developed  their  memories  to  the 
extent  of  knowing  their  real  capacity. 

Undoubtedly  some  people  are  endowed  with  "nat- 
ural" memories,  but  it  is  just  as  certain  that  very  few 
people  ever  give  their  memories  a  fair  chance,  especially 
in  this  age  of  newspapers  and  many  books. 

The  great  mass  of  what  we  read  and  hear  we  do  not 
expect,  indeed  do  not  desire,  to  remember.  What 
could  be  more  horrible  to  contemplate  than  the  state 
of  mind  of  a  man  who  should  remember  all  that  he  has 
read  in  the  daily  paper  for  a  single  year?  The  very 
plethora  of  subjects  drives  us  into  slip-shod  methods  of 

[87] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

reading  and  insures  facile  forgetting.  The  days  when 
men  remembered  everything  that  they  heard  were  the 
days  when  few  things  were  to  be  heard.  The  man  who 
has  a  day's  history  of  the  world  for  breakfast  must  ex- 
pect mental  indigestion.  His  mind  would  be  a  hope- 
less junkshop  of  useless  information  if  he  were  to  re- 
member one  tithe  of  what  he  reads.  So  he  sedulously 
cultivates  a  poor  memory;  and  then  bemoans  the  hard 
fate  that  has  failed  to  make  him  a  living  phonograph. 

In  justice  to  Nature  it  must  be  said  of  memory,  as  of 
the  receptive  faculties,  that  every  man  of  ordinary 
mind  has  capacity  enough  in  this  direction  to  make 
him  an  "able  man"  if  his  other  faculties  match  it,  and 
if  it  is  properly  developed.  Illustrations  of  the  possibili- 
ties of  memory-development  in  minds  of  very  mediocre 
calibre  are  familiar  enough  in  e very-day  Hfe.  Doubt- 
less the  reader  has  sometime  dined  with  a  half  dozen 
friends  at  a  restaurant  where  the  old-fashioned  method  of 
taking  verbal  orders  from  the  menu  is  still  in  vogue. 
Which  one  of  you  could  remember  the  various  orders  as 
the  waiter  does?  He  has  a  remarkable  memory  in- 
deed, you  say.  Not  at  all.  He  has  simply  put  in 
practise  the  elementary  rule  for  the  cultivation  of  mem- 
ory (without  ever  having  heard  it)  and  so  has  developed 
his  memory  in  one  line  to  about  its  normal  limit. 

The  psychological  law  on  which  the  waiter  has  un- 
consciously acted  is  the  very  simple  one  that  vivid  im- 
pressions are  lasting.  If  you  will  take  a  mental  retro- 
spect of  your  life,  you  will  find  that  certain  particular 
events  stand  out  conspicuously  in  a  generally  blurred 
field.    In  a  hurried  glance,  perhaps  not  more  than 

[88] 


HOW  TO  SEE  AND   REMEMBER 

one  event  for  each  year  of  your  life  will  come  prom- 
inently into  the  field. 

What  are  these  events?  Those  that  made  a  strong 
impression  at  the  time  because  of  their  novelty  or  their 
importance,  or  both.  Graduation  from  school;  the 
entrance  upon  practical  life;  changes  of  business  or 
residence;  marriage;  the  death  of  a  relative  or  friend, 
and  so  on. 

These  events  are  the  milestones  by  which  we  measure 
our  span  of  life  as  we  look  back.  They  are  permanent, 
ineffaceable  records  of  memory.  As  we  dwell  on  the 
picture  in  retrospect,  other  minor  events  come  to  view. 
Numerous  details  of  transactions,  little  incidents  ap- 
parently forgotten,  are  recalled.  But  after  memory 
has  exhausted  its  possibilities,  we  must  feel  that  where 
one  event  is  recalled  a  thousand  are  forgotten. 

Of  our  myriad  experiences,  why  have  these  few  been 
singled  out  for  permanent  record,  while  the  rest  are  con- 
signed to  obhvion? 

The  answer  is  but  a  reiteration.  It  is  because  these 
were  vividly  or  persistently  experienced.  But  why 
were  they  vividly  or  repeatedly  experienced  ?  Because 
they  possessed  an  interest  for  us.  It  may  have  been 
the  interest  of  novelty,  or  the  interest  of  importance; 
it  may  have  been  interest  developed  of  fear  or  apprehen- 
sion; but  it  was  surely  interest,  for  interest  is  the  mother 
of  attention,  and  from  attention  comes  vividness  of 
mental  presentation  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of 
memory. 

Why  then  does  the  waiter  remember  your  order? 
Primarily  because  he  listened  to  it  attentively,  it  being 

[89] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

for  his  interest  to  do  so;  and  the  attentive  listening  in- 
sured vivid  and  lasting  impression;  lasting,  that  is, 
for  a  few  minutes,  as  long  as  it  will  be  of  any  use  to  have 
it  last.  But  this  is  not  quite  all.  The  great  master 
Habit  has  also  come  into  the  transaction.  The  no\dce 
could  not  remember  those  lists  however  he  strove  to 
concentrate  attention  on  them;  but  repeated  experi- 
ences of  memorising  disconnected  lists  have  resulted 
in  proficiency  through  habit;  that  is  to  say  the  waiter 
has  become  as  regards  this  one  department  of  mind,  a 
cultivated  being, — for  culture  consists  only  in  the  ac- 
quirements of  good  habits  of  mind. 

The  lesson  of  all  this  is  that  every  man  may  cultivate 
his  memory  to  an  astonishing  degree  if  he  will  de- 
velop an  interest  in  the  subject  to  be  memorised,  as 
this  will  lead  to  attentive  consideration  of  the  subject, 
insuring  vivid  presentation  and  lasting  recollection. 
A  man  cannot  change  the  inherent  nature  of  his  tissues. 
Some  organisms  are  inherently  more  receptive  than 
others;  they  may  be  likened  to  instantaneous  plates 
of  the  photographer.  Other  organisms  are  relatively 
non-receptive,  like  the  old  wet  plates.  There  are 
obvious  advantages  with  the  instantaneous  plate; 
but  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  old  wet  plate,  if 
given  time  for  the  impression  to  make  itself  felt,  will  pro- 
duce just  as  good  a  result  as  the  more  rapid  one. 

And  the  parallel,  fortunately,  holds  as  to  the  minds. 
Repeated  impressions  of  the  same  kind  will  take  the 
place  of  a  single  vivid  impression.  Macaulay  reads  a 
poem  once  and  can  repeat  it.  But  any  man  of  ordinary 
mind  can  learn  to  repeat  that  poem,  if  he  set  about  it 

[90] 


HOW  TO   SEE   AND   REMEMBER 

with  determination  and  continue  the  effort.  He  may 
need  to  read  it  ten,  twenty,  a  hundred  times,  but  in  the 
end  he  accomplishes  the  same  result  as  Macaulay. 
The  only  difference  is  a  matter  of  time.  Webster  scans 
a  page  and  grasps  its  meaning  at  a  glance ;  the  plodder 
creeps  alone  the  lines;  but  each  has  the  same  idea  at 
last. 

There  are  obvious  advantages  with  the  ready  learner, 
when  one  reflects  that  life  is  so  short  and  that  there 
is  so  much  to  learn. 

But  the  plodder  should  not  think  that  life  is  short. 
He  should  say  rather,  "Life  is  long,  and  there  is  time 
for  everything."  He  should  know  that  Macaulay  or 
Webster  can  not  keep  up  indefinitely  those  rapid,  vivid 
perceptions.  The  brain  tires  in  proportion  to  what  it 
does,  rather  than  in  proportion  to  the  time  in  which  it 
does  it.  The  receptive  mind  does  its  work  quickly  and 
must  rest  soon.  The  non-receptive  mind  works  slowly 
but  can  work  long.  The  race  is  not  always  to  the  swift. 
While  the  receptive  mind  is  resting  the  other  may  pass 
on,  tortoise-like,  to  the  goal. 

But  to  accomplish  this  result  requires  rightly  directed 
effort.  It  is  desirable  that  the  mind  not  specially  en- 
dowed should  be  cultivated  to  its  Hmits  in  all  directions. 
A  moment's  reflection  shows  how  far  short  of  this  most 
minds  remain.  Most  eyes  Hterally  see  as  through  a 
glass,  darkly.  The  average  person  going  into  the  fields 
will  not  see  or  hear  one  bird  where  the  ornithologist 
would  see  and  hear  scores;  will  scarcely  observe  a  flower 
or  insect,  where  the  botanist  or  entomologist  would  find 
countless  specimens.     I  have  seen  three  orioles'  nests 

[91] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

suspended  from  the  branches  of  an  elm  in  the  dooryard 
of  a  family  no  member  of  which  had  ever  heard  of  an 
oriole  or  its  song  or  recalled  ever  to  have  seen  a  bird  of 
black-and-orange  plumage. 

And  this  half-blindness  is  but  typical  of  what  one 
finds  in  every  direction,  if  one  analyses  the  observing 
powers  of  one's  acquaintances.  I  have  known  a  woman 
of  intelligence,  when  asked  to  make  the  experiment  of 
sketching  the  profile  of  a  face,  to  look  intently  at  the  sit- 
ter and  actually  draw  the  profile  facing  in  the  wrong 
direction.  That  perhaps  is  an  extreme  case,  but  if 
you  ask  your  average  acquaintance  to  sketch  almost 
any  familiar  object,  you  will  get  scarcely  less  startling 
results. 

Not  one  untrained  person  in  ten  can  glance  at  such  a 
familiar  object  as,  for  example,  a  tumbler  placed  in 
front  of  him,  and  depict  its  top  with  an  approximately 
correct  oval.  The  sketcher  know^s  that  he  is  represent- 
ing something  that  is  really  round  and  this  knowledge 
will  pervert  his  vision. 

Again,  how  few  untrained  eyes  present  to  their  pos- 
sessors anything  like  a  correct  picture  of  the  lights  and 
shadows  which  really  determine  for  us  the  character  of 
all  the  objects  about  us.  Ask  your  friend  to  look  in- 
tently at  a  ball  laid  in  front  of  him  and  make  you  the 
simplest  picture  of  it  with  three  gradations  of  shade  to 
mark  (i)  the  deepest  shadow,  (2)  the  medium  tone,  and 
(3)  the  high  light ;  and  see  how  ill  is  the  service  that  his 
eye  does  him.  A  very  large  portion  of  the  training  of 
the  art  schools  consists  merely  in  teaching  the  eyes  to 
see. 

[9211 


HOW  TO  SEE  AND   REMEMBER 

But  the  defects  inherent  in  the  average  method  of 
using  the  normal  senses  are  most  apparent  when  we 
witness  the  extreme  development  of  certain  senses  under 
conditions  that  make  training  necessary.  Thus  every- 
one knows  that  the  blind  come  to  have  almost  pre- 
ternaturally  acute  senses  of  hearing  and  of  touch; 
while  the  deaf-mute  correspondingly  develops  his 
vision  until,  for  example,  he  may  even  be  able  to  read 
the  speech  of  a  companion  by  watching  his  lips. 

These  are  instances  in  which  the  organ  of  hearing  or 
of  sight  is  developed  to  a  degree  of  perfection  it  would 
unquestionably  not  have  attained  had  no  special  stress 
been  brought  to  bear  upon  its  development.  And  this 
fact  suggests  that  the  eye  and  ear  of  the  average  normal 
person  might  be  trained  to  something  like  a  correspond- 
ing degree  of  efficiency,  were  the  proper  attention  given 
to  such  training. 

Learn  to  challenge  your  eye  and  ear;  to  demand  of 
them  that  they  bring  you  explicit  records  of  all  the  ob- 
jects and  sounds  that  come  within  their  ken,  and  you 
will  be  amazed  to  see  how  full  your  world  becomes  of 
things  that  hitherto  you  had  disregarded,  and  how  much 
your  capacity  for  enjoyment  will  be  extended. 

Similarly  the  average  memory,  if  trained  and  put 
to  the  test,  will  develop  possibihties  undreamed  of. 
You  may  not  be  able,  like  Sherwood,  to  memorise  a 
thousand  pieces  of  music;  or,  like  Pillsbury,  to  play 
twenty  bhndfold  games  of  chess  while  simultaneously 
playing  a  game  of  duplicate  whist;  or  like  Asa  Gray 
to  recall  the  names  of  25,000  plants;  but  you  will  as- 
tonish yourself  and  your  friends  with  the  improve- 

[93] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

ment  you  may  make  on  what  you  had  supposed  were 
your  Hmits  of  memorising.  I  know  a  man  who  plays 
three  simultaneous  blindfold  games  of  chess  and  usually 
wins  against  very  competent  opponents,  and  yet  who 
claims  that  he  has  not,  in  any  sense,  an  unusual  memory; 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  various  of  his  business  associates 
are  unquestionably  better  endowed  in  that  regard  than 
he.  He  has  simply  developed  his  memory  in  one  direc- 
tion to  something  like  its  normal  Hmits,  somewhat 
as  the  average  Brahman  develops  his  memory  to  its 
limits  when  he  learns  to  repeat  the  10,000  verses  of  the 
Rig- Veda,  or  the  average  Mohammedan  when  he  learns 
the  Koran  by  heart. 

A  striking  illustration  of  the  latent  possibilities  of 
memory-development  is  furnished  by  the  case  of  Hein- 
rich  Schliemann,  the  famous  archaeologist, — the  man 
who  discovered  the  site  of  ancient  Troy.  Schliemann 
began  relatively  late  in  life  to  take  up  the  study  of  lan- 
guages. By  assiduous  application  he  mastered  one 
after  another  until  he  came  to  regard  the  acquisition  of  a 
new  language  as  a  mere  pastime.  Yet  he  explicitly 
disclaimed  any  exceptional  endowment  of  memory. 
He  believed  that  any  average  person  could  do  what  he 
had  done  by  making  such  application  as  he  had  made. 
Doubtless  he  modestly  under-estimated  his  own  powers, 
but  at  least  it  is  certain  that  he  would  not  have  known  of 
his  exceptional  capacity  had  he  not,  almost  by  accident, 
put  it  to  the  test.  And  note,  if  you  please,  the  stren- 
uous methods  by  which  he  achieved  success.  *'In 
order  to  improve  my  position,"  he  says,  ''I  appHed  my- 
self to  the  study  of  modern  languages.     My  annual 

[94] 


HOW  TO   SEE   AND   REMEMBER 

salary  amounted  to  only  eight  hundred  francs  (60 
dollars),  half  of  which  I  spent  upon  my  studies;  on  the 
other  half  I  lived — miserably  enough  to  be  sure.  My 
lodging,  which  cost  eight  francs  a  month  was  a  wretched 
garret  without  a  fire,  where  I  shivered  with  cold  in 
winter  and  was  scorched  with  the  heat  in  summer.  My 
breakfast  consisted  of  rye-meal  porridge  and  my  dinner 
never  cost  more  than  two  pence.  But  nothing  spurs  one 
on  to  study  more  than  misery  and  the  certain  prospect 
of  being  able  to  release  oneself  from  it  by  unremitting 
work. 

"I  applied  myself  with  extraordinary  diligence  to 
the  study  of  Enghsh.  Necessity  taught  me  a  method 
which  greatly  facilitates  the  study  of  a  language.  This 
method  consists  in  reading  a  great  deal  aloud,  without 
making  a  translation,  taking  a  lesson  every  day,  con- 
stantly writing  essays  upon  subjects  of  interest,  cor- 
recting these  under  the  supervision  of  a  teacher,  learn- 
ing them  by  heart,  and  repeating  in  the  next  lesson 
what  was  corrected  on  the  previous  day.  My  memory 
was  bad,  since  from  my  childhood  it  had  not  been  ex- 
ercised upon  any  object ;  but  I  made  use  of  every  mo- 
ment, and  even  stole  time  for  study.  In  order  to  acquire 
a  good  pronunciation  quickly,  I  went  twice  every  Sun- 
day to  the  English  church,  and  repeated  to  myself  in  a 
low  voice  every  word  of  the  clergyman's  sermon.  I 
never  went  on  my  errands,  even  in  the  rain,  without 
having  my  book  in  my  hand  and  learning  something 
by  heart;  and  I  never  waited  at  the  post-office  without 
reading. 

*'By   such   methods   I   gradually   strengthened   my 

[95] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

memory,  and  in  three  months'  time  found  no  difficulty 
in  reciting  from  memory  to  my  teacher,  Mr.  Taylor,  in 
each  day's  lesson,  word  by  word,  twenty  printed  pages, 
after  ha^ipg  read  them  over  three  times  attentively.  In 
this  way  I  committed  to  memory  the  whole  of  Gold- 
smith's Vicar  of  Wakefield  ^nd  Sir  Walter  Scott's 
Ivanhoe.  From  over-excitement  I  slept  but  little,  and 
employed  my  sleepless  hours  at  night  in  going  over  in 
my  mind  what  I  had  read  on  the  preceding  evening. 
The  memory  being  always  much  more  concentrated  at 
night  than  in  the  day-time,  I  found  these  repetitions  at 
night  of  paramount  use.  Thus  I  succeeded  in  ac- 
quiring in  half  a  year  a  thorough  knowledge  of  the 
English  language. 

'*I  then  applied  the  same  method  to  the  study  of 
French,  the  difficulties  of  which  I  overcame  likewise  in 
another  six  months.  Of  French  authors  I  learned  by 
heart  the  whole  of  Fenelon's  Adventures  de  Telemaque 
and  Bernardin  de  Saint  Pierre's  Paid  et  Virginie.  This 
unremitting  study  had  in  the  course  of  a  single  year 
strengthened  my  memory  to  such  a  degree  that  the 
study  of  Dutch,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  Portuguese  ap- 
peared very  easy,  and  it  did  not  take  me  more  than 
six  weeks  to  write  and  speak  each  of  these  languages 
fluently." 

Many  a  reader  who  has  tried  with  indifferent  suc- 
cess to  learn  a  language  will  admit,  I  suspect,  on  read- 
ing this  account,  that  he  did  not  make  what  Schliemann 
would  have  considered  a  serious  effort.  If  you  are 
wilHngto  work  as  Schliemann  worked,  perhaps  you  too 
will  discover  that  you  have  a  genius  for  language.    If 

[96] 


HOW  TO   SEE  AND   REMEMBER 

such  should  chance  to  be  the  fact,  it  is  certainly  worth 
while  to  find  it  out.  And  in  any  event,  even  if  you  fail  to 
develop  exceptional  powers,  undoubtedly  you  may  im- 
prove upon  present  conditions. 

Demand  exphcitness  of  your  memory,  then.  Ex- 
pect it  to  record  experiences  accurately.  When  you 
read  something  worth  knowing,  stop  and  fix  your  mind 
upon  the  fact  or  idea  and  resolve  to  remember.  Re- 
peat it  to  yourself  from  time  to  time  until  it  is  fixed 
securely.  On  recalling  what  you  have  read,  or  inci- 
dents of  your  experience,  train  yourself  to  make  a  con- 
tinuous mental  narrative,  stating  names  and  facts  pre- 
cisely, without  slurring  and  without  exaggeration.  It 
is  the  method  that  counts.  It  does  not  so  much  matter 
what  the  pabulum  upon  which  your  mind  feeds,  as  how 
it  learns  to  utilise  it.  The  habit  of  clear- seeing  and  ac- 
curate-remembering, once  acquired,  will  lead  you  to 
knowledge  that  is  w^orth  acquiring  and  remembering. 
And  there  is  pleasure  no  less  than  power  in  knowledge. 

All  along  do  not  forget  the  value  of  repetition.  We 
hear  much  of  the  receptive  memory  of  childhood,  but  in 
reality  the  child  learns  only  by  incessant  repeating. 
Were  it  otherwise  the  school  child  would  go  through  its 
arithmetic,  its  grammar,  its  geography,  and  all  the  rest 
in  a  few  weeks;  a  year  or  two  would  suffice  for  the 
period  of  schooling.  Yet  we  all  know  how  many  years 
of  painful  effort  are  required  for  the  attainment  of  even 
a  fair  degree  of  education. 

In  point  of  fact,  despite  the  popular  belief  to  the 
contrary,  most  adults  could  learn  more  of  a  given  sub- 
ject in  a  given  time   than  they  ever  could  have  done 

7  [97] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

when  they  were  children.  If  you  will  take  up  a  lan- 
guage, for  example,  you  will  find  that  you  can  learn  it  as 
fast  as  your  child  can,  if  you  give  it  the  same  effort  that 
the  child  is  obliged  to  give.  Do  not  say  "  I  am  too  old  " ; 
but  begin  to-day  to  acquire  any  knowledge  you  may 
think  it  desirable  to  have,  and  persist  in  the  effort. 
Herschel,  the  greatest  of  observing  astronomers,  never 
so  much  as  saw  a  telescope  till  he  was  thirty-five,  and 
he  continued  to  earn  his  living  as  a  musician  for  some 
years  after  he  became  the  most  expert  of  star-gazers. 
Schliemann  did  not  take  up  Greek  till  he  w^as  thirty-five ; 
a  few  years  later  he  could  use  that  language  with  the 
facility  of  his  mother  tongue.  Elizabeth  Cady  Stanton 
began  the  study  of  music  at  three  score  and  ten.  Queen 
Victoria  began  Hindustani  at  the  age  of  eighty.  It  is 
never  too  late  to  mend  our  frayed  mental  habits  or  to 
develop  seemingly  new  capacities. 

The  keys  to  such  development,  let  me  say  again 
in  conclusion,  are  Interest  and  Repetition — interest  in 
the  things  of  your  physical  and  mental  environment  to 
make  you  a  good  observer,  and  repetition  to  fix  your 
observations  in  memory.  Every  teacher  knows  that  the 
great  difficulty  with  children  is  to  gain  their  interested 
attention.  If  the  average  child  could  be  made  to  be- 
lieve that  its  school  lessons  are  of  real  value  and  really 
worth  its  while  to  learn,  it  would  learn  them  twice  as 
well  in  half  the  time.  The  difficulty  is  that  the  child 
mind  is  opinionated.  The  youth  regards  grammar, 
algebra,  Latin,  and  the  rest  as  studies  that  can  be  of  no 
possible  use  to  him  in  after  life,  and  therefore  he  is  con- 
tent  to  give   them   just   enough   thought   to   "pass" 

[98] 


HOW  TO  SEE  AND  REMEMBER 

and  then  forget  them  as  soon  as  possible.  The  child 
does  not  realise  what  he  is  doing;  later  in  life  he  usually 
comes  to  see,  and  bitterly  to  regret,  his  folly. 

Similarly  the  average  adult  fails  to  realise  what  he  is 
doing  when  he  allows  himself  to  develop  a  blurred  vi- 
sion and  a  slurred  habit  of  memorising.  The  average 
reader  has  habits  of  mind  that  arc  slovenly.  Every 
man  and  woman  of  your  acquaintance  read  full  ac- 
counts of  the  Russo-Japanese  war  a  few  months  ago; 
but  ask  even  the  most  intelligent  of  your  acquaintances 
to  give  you  in  precise,  condensed  phrases,  an  epitome 
of  these  events,  mentioning  the  names  of  the  leading 
officers  on  either  side  and  the  location  of  the  chief  battles, 
and  see  how  painfully  defective  the  narrative  will  be. 
Yet  the  chief  value  of  any  knowledge  depends  upon 
its  precision. 

Challenge  your  memory,  then,  regarding  such  slovenly 
habits.  Cultivate  an  interest  in  the  things  of  life  that 
are  worth  while.  Resolve  to  see  accurately  and  to  re- 
member precisely.  By  so  doing  you  will  infinitely  widen 
your  horizons.  You  will  add  to  your  efficiency  as  a 
rational,  thinking  being.  You  will  take  a  long  step 
toward  the  acquisition  of  what  your  friends  will  call 
ability, — a  long  forward  move  on  the  road  to  success, 
where  stands  the  goal  of  happiness. 


[99] 


"  The  exchange  of  one  fear  or  pleasure  or  pain  for  another 
fear  or  pleasure  or  pain,  which  are  measured  like  coins,  the 
greater  with  the  less,  is  not  the  exchange  of  virtue.  O,  dear 
Simnias,  is  there  not  one  true  coin  for  which  all  things  ought 
to  exchange? — and  that  is  wisdom;  and  only  in  exchange 
for  this  and  in  company  with  this  is  anything  truly  bought  or 
sold,  whether  courage  or  temperance  or  justice.  And  is  not 
all  true  virtue  the  companion  of  wisdom,  no  matter  what  fears 
or  pleasures  or  other  similar  goods  or  evils  may  not  attend 
her?"  — Socrates  (in  Plato^s  Plmdo). 


chapter    VI 
HOW   TO    THINK 

"William  Forbes  had  a  saying  concerning  letters;  it  was, 
'Read  more  and  write  less.'  Meanwhile,  according  to  Bayle, 
if  the  man  who  wrote  so  much  had  afterwards  come  to 
Forbes  and  said,  'I  have  followed  your  advice;  I  have  read 
a  great  deal,'  Forbes  would  then  have  given  this  further 
counsel,  'to  read  less  for  the  future  and  meditate  more.'" 

— Biographical  Dictionary,  1798. 


"  Aristippus,  being  asked  what  philosophy  had  taught  him, 
repHed:  'To  live  well  with  all  the  world  and  fear  nothing.' 
Asked  wherein  philosophers  differ  from  other  men,  he  said: 
'In  this — that  if  there  were  no  laws  they  would  still  live 
as  they  do."* 

"  He  who  has  a  taste  for  every  sort  of  knowledge  and  who 
is  curious  to  learn  and  is  never  satistied,  may  be  justly  termed 
a  philosopher."  — Plato. 


i 


VI 


HOW  TO  THINK 

A  DISTINGUISHED  editor,  who  had  known 
most  of  the  celebrities  of  his  generation,  once 
told  me  his  impressions  of  Henry  Ward 
Beecher.  "There,"  he  said,  "was  a  man  who  knew 
more  than  all  the  others,  yet  who  never  seemed  to  work 
to  acquire  his  knowledge.  Beecher  seemed  to  know 
things  by  intuition;  to  imbibe  information  by  occult 
processes." 

Impressed  by  the  wonderful  personality  of  the  great 
preacher,  my  informant  was,  I  think,  more  than  half 
serious  in  this  estimate.  But  of  course  no  sober  analyst 
could  accept  the  estimate  at  its  face  value.  One  haz- 
ards nothing  in  asserting  that  Beecher,  like  all  the  rest 
of  mankind,  could  have  no  veritable  knowledge  that  did 
not  come  to  him  through  the  ordinary  channels  of  sense. 
To  think  the  contrary  would  be  to  harbor  a  mischiev- 
ous belief.  Few  things  are  more  certain  than  that  the 
highest  minds  and  the  lowest  are  compounded  of  the 
same  elements  and  held  subject  to  the  same  laws  of 
action. 

The  illusion  of  intuitive  knowledge,  in  a  mind  like  that 
of  Beecher,  grows  out  of  the  fact  that  such  minds  are 
exquisitely  sensitive  to  impressions,  receiving  sensations 
as  it  were  by  an  instantaneous  process,  and  compound- 
ing them  into  ideas  with  like  rapidity;  then  associat- 
ing these  ideas  into  wide  systems  of  comparison. 

[103] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

In  other  words,  such  a  mind  is  essentially  synthetic. 
It  tends  to  be  interested  in  noting  resemblances  be- 
tween unlike  phenomena.  Reasoning  from  analogy, 
it  passes  swiftly  from  the  known  to  the  unknown  and 
draws  logical  inferences  that  are  so  near  the  truth  as 
to  seem  Kke  inspirations. 

But  in  reality  such  reasonings  are  only  logical  guesses. 
The  more  comprehensive  and  the  better  balanced  the 
mind,  the  more  likely  are  the  guesses  to  prove  true ;  but 
at  best  they  can  never  rise  above  the  plane  of  specula- 
tion. The  epoch-making  thoughts  of  the  world,  the 
time-defying  images,  are  developed  and  worked  out 
along  the  same  lines  that  the  brain  of  the  veriest  plodder 
follows  in  its  daily  humdrum  tasks. 

If  it  were  otherwise;  if  genius  cut  free  from  the 
mental  processes  of  mediocrity,  we  could  not  follow  it; 
its  conceptions  would  be  to  us  but  simple  madness, 
absolute  incoherence.  But  as  it  is,  the  greatest  mind 
sees  but  a  little  farther  than  its  fellows  into  the  darloiess 
beyond  the  bounds  of  knowledge.  The  revolutioniz- 
ing idea  is  but  a  step  away  from  hosts  of  ideas  that  have 
failed  to  revolutionize.  The  aggregate  mind  must  be 
prepared  to  follow  closely  or  even  genius  cannot  lead. 
Indeed,  the  greatest  genius  is  only  the  best  exponent  of 
his  time.  Homer  is  Homer  because  the  Epic  was  the 
natural  voice  of  his  age. 

Consider  in  this  connection  the  most  revolutionary 
thought  of  our  own  time.  It  is  the  idea  of  evolution. 
Who  can  say  that  word  and  not  think  of  Darwin? 
Yet  Darwin  himself  would  have  been  the  last  to  claim 
that  he  originated  the  idea  of  evolution.     The  idea  was 

[104] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

as  old  as  Anaximander  the  Greek,  perhaps  even  older. 
Even  "natural  selection,"  which  is  the  idea  usually 
spoken  of  as  Darwinian,  had  been  advocated,  as  Dar- 
win himself  points  out,  long  before  he  published  his 
Origin  of  Species. 

Lamarck  had  been  the  avowed  champion  of  Evolu- 
tion fifty  years  before.  But  the  world  was  not  ready. 
Darwin  came  when  the  labors  of  the  new  school  of 
geologists — Hutton,  Lyell,  William  Smith,  Cuvier,  and 
their  followers— had  created  a  new  atmosphere  and 
prepared  the  way  for  a  new  view  of  animate  creation. 
Altogether  similar  is  the  history  of  the  greatest  scientific 
discovery  of  the  eighteenth  century — Jenner's  dis- 
covery of  vaccination.  The  truth  w^hich  Jenner  dem- 
onstrated to  the  world  had  been  vaguely  knowTi 
for  generations  in  the  farming  communities  of  England. 
It  required  the  patient  researches  of  a  logical  thinker 
to  find  the  way  from  vague  popular  belief  to  scientfiic 
theory  and  demonstration. 

These,  along  with  many  other  discoveries  that  have 
placed  their  demonstrators  on  the  highest  rolls  of  fame, 
do  not  of  necessity  involve  extraordinary  quickness  of 
perception,  phenomenal  retentiveness  of  memory,  or  un- 
usual capacity  to  associate  ideas.  Many  a  man  un- 
known to  fame  has  had  more  acute  perceptive  faculties 
than  Darwin  or  Jenner;  countless  men  have  had  better 
memories;  countless  others  have  had  equal  powders  of 
logical  thinking.  But  these  native  power  have  availed 
them  nothing,  because  they  did  not  supply  their  minds 
with  adequate  material  with  which  to  work.  Dar- 
win's theories  would  have  been  laughed  to  scorn  by  the 

[105] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

scientific  world  had  he  not  fortified  them  with  a  vast 
accumulation  of  facts.  All  the  logicality  of  his  mind 
would  have  availed  him  nothing,  had  he  not  found 
the  material  with  which  to  work, — such  material  con- 
sisting in  this  case  of  an  encyclopaedic  knowledge  of 
the  facts  of  natural  history  in  all  its  departments. 
Similarly,  Jenner's  opinion  as  to  the  preventive  powers 
of  vaccination  would  have  received  scant  credence, 
had  it  not  been  supported  by  a  large  array  of  experi- 
mental evidence.  It  was  a  skein  of  facts  which  his 
logical  brain  wove  into  a  fabric  of  truth; — without  these 
facts  no  powers  of  mind  could  have  availed. 

The  first  practical  lesson  of  all  this  seems  to  be  that 
the  mind,  in  order  to  become  an  efficient  thinking- 
machine,  must  be  properly  fed.  No  man  is  wider  than 
his  experiences;  but,  fortunately,  the  word  experi- 
ences in  this  sense  includes  not  merely  the  practicalities 
of  life,  but  our  contact  with  the  larger  world,  through 
the  medium  of  books.  Until  man  learned  to  store  his 
thoughts  through  the  aid  of  the  art  of  writing  and  to 
transmit  them  down  the  ages  through  the  medium  of 
books,  each  generation  must  have  been  obliged,  for  the 
most  part,  to  live  in  the  present,  and  the  progress  that 
comes  of  cumulative  experiences  was  much  restricted. 
Historical  investigators  are  agreed  that  the  mere  mem- 
ory of  man,  unaided  by  written  documents,  scarcely 
transm.its  a  record  of  events  with  any  considerable 
measure  of  historical  accuracy  beyond  a  period  of  two 
or  three  generations.  That  is  why  the  early  history  of 
Greece  and  of  Rome,  as  of  all  other  civilised  nations, 
remains  so  vague  and  mythical;   and  why  uncivilised 

[io6] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

nations,  lacking  the  art  of  writing,  have  no  history  at  all 
in  the  proper  acceptance  of  the  word. 

Of  course,  it  would  be  absurd  to  deny  that  progres- 
sive ideas  may  be  passed  on  by  word  of  mouth  from 
one  generation  to  another.  Through  this  means  alone  a 
certain  progress  is  possible ;  and  indeed  it  is  axiomatic 
that  man  must  have  struggled  forward  with  this  aid 
alone  until  the  art  of  writing  was  developed, — albeit 
such  modern  investigators  as  Arthur  Evans  are  dis- 
posed to  think  that  this  stage  of  progress  was  reached 
much  earlier  than  has  hitherto  been  believed.  Mr. 
Evans,  indeed,  suggests  that  man  may  have  learned  to 
transmit  ideas  by  a  crude  picture-writing  before  he  even 
acquired  the  power  of  articulate  speech.  I  cannot 
agree  with  this  opinion,  and  this  is  not  the  place  to 
discuss  it;  but  at  least  the  idea  is  full  of  suggestive- 
ness. 

In  any  event  it  requires  but  a  little  reflection  to  show 
how  relatively  narrow  the  vision  of  mankind  must  have 
been,  so  long  as  no  word  beyond  a  vague  oral  tradi- 
tion could  be  passed  on  from  the  great  minds  of  the  past 
to  the  aspiring  minds  of  later  generations.  Imagine, 
if  you  please,  what  the  world  to-day  would  be  like,  were 
all  its  wealth  of  books  to  be  suddenly  destroyed.  Proba- 
bly the  aggregate  memories  of  all  the  persons  living  to- 
day could  not  reproduce  more  than  a  small  fraction  of 
even  the  classics  of  literature.  Even  if  here  and  there 
an  exceptional  memory  could  reproduce  a  masterpiece, 
consider  how  soon  that  masterpiece  would  become 
altered  and  perverted  as  successive  hearers — denied 
by  hypothesis  the  capacity  to  write  down  what  they 

[107] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

heard — passed  it  on  to  one  another.  And  then  con- 
sider the  vast  mass  of  useful  knowledge  not  comprised 
within  the  scope  of  classical  writings — matter  which  no 
one  now  commits  to  memory,  because  the  written  page 
embalms  it  securely,  and  which  must  therefore  be 
utterly  lost  were  the  treasury  of  books  destroyed. 

Something  might  be  said,  to  be  sure,  on  the  other 
side,  regarding  the  chaff  that  would  perish  with  the 
grain.  Not  all  the  matter  embalmed  on  the  printed 
pages  is  worth  preserving.  Doubtless,  the  destruction 
of  much  of  it  would  make  for  progress.  Along  with 
the  pearls  of  thought  are  countless  false  jewels.  There 
are  false  ideas  commingled  with  the  true.  There  are 
lies  and  superstitions  that  threaded  their  way  into 
the  mesh  of  human  thought,  the  perpetuation  of  which 
does  not  make  for  progress.  But  few  will  contend 
that  these  false  ideas  for  a  momicnt  counterbalance 
the  great  mass  of  useful  and  inspiring  knowledge  that 
finds  preservation  in  books;  indeed,  even  to  suggest 
this  phase  of  the  subject  is  to  bring  forward  an  idea 
almost  too  whimsical  for  our  present  serious  purpose. 
And,  even  were  the  dross  greatly  in  excess  of  the  pure 
metal,  the  treasure-house  of  books  would  still  be  only 
on  a  par  with  the  storehouses  of  nature; — there  is  but 
here  and  there  a  grain  of  gold  in  a  mass  of  sand,  yet 
that  grain  is  well  worth  searching  out. 

Perhaps  indeed  it  is  as  w^ell  that  the  mental  treasures 
stored  in  books  require  some  searching,  for  in  hunt- 
ing them  out  the  delver  will  acquire  valuable  lessons  in 
discriminative  judgment.  Something  at  least  as  to  his 
own  requirements,  each  man  must  find  out  for  him- 

[io8] 


HOW  TO   THINK 

self.  He  may  indeed  accept  the  verdict  of  the  critic 
as  to  what  constitute  the  great  classics  of  literature, 
but  no  critic  can  tell  him  which  ones  of  these  will  sup- 
ply the  pabulum  which  his  mind  most  needs.  This  he 
must  find  out  for  himself  by  patient  searching.  As  he 
browses  among  the  books  he  will  find  that  this  author 
or  that  is  to  him  stimulative,  helpful,  thought-provoca- 
tive. You  may  find  such  stimulus  in  Marcus  Aurelius, 
in  Emerson,  in  Thoreau;  your  neighbor  may  search 
the  pages  of  these  writers  in  vain,  yet  may  find  what  he 
needs  in  Plato,  in  Kant,  or  in  Spencer. 

Search  for  yourself  until  you  find  the  words  that  are 
written  for  you.  Take  no  man's  verdict  in  advance; — 
you  will  know  your  master  when  you  meet  him.  But 
search  widely  and  ever  expectantly.  Beyond  all  ques- 
tion there  are  hundreds  of  pages  written  expressly 
for  your  eye  that  in  the  maze  of  literature  you  will  never 
see.  Now  and  again,  by  sheer  accident,  as  you  browse 
and  as  you  turn  the  pages  of  obscure  books  in  the 
dustiest  corner  of  a  library,  you  will  come  upon  words 
that  have  been  awaiting  you  perhaps  for  centuries; 
words  that  will  lift  you  away  from  your  former  self, 
giving  you  joy  in  the  present  and  inspiration  for  the 
future. 

As  one  stumbles  sometimes  upon  a  receptive  and 
sympathetic  mind  in  a  chance  travelling  acquaintance, 
so  here  in  a  chance  book  you  will  have  found  a  new 
friend  who  can  be  to  you  always  a  guide  and  monitor, 
who  will  by  no  chance  desert  you,  and  who  will  re- 
spond always  to  your  every  mood. 

All  this  would  be  denied  you  were  it  not  for  books; 

[109] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

all  this  you  have  denied  yourself  if  you  have  not  learned 
the  art  of  friendly  searching  of  the  printed  page.  It 
is  not  too  much  to  say  that  you  cannot  hope  to  learn 
to  think  if  you  do  not  first  learn  to  read — by  which  I  do 
not  mean  merely  learn  to  turn  the  pages  as  a  task;  a 
reader  is  not  one  who  merely  knows  the  words;  he  is 
one  who  goes  to  the  printed  page  with  eager  avidity. 
Nothing  is  so  stimulative  as  contact  with  great  minds, 
and  he  who  denies  himself  that  contact  cannot  hope  to 
develop  his  own  mind  to  the  full  extent  of  its  possibili- 
ties. 

You  have  heard  it  said,  perhaps,  that  Herbert  Spen- 
cer, the  foremost  thinker  of  modern  times,  read  but 
little.  Do  not  be  deceived  by  such  a  statement.  Open 
the  pages  of  Spencer's  books;  read  First  Principles, 
The  Principles  of  Biology,  of  Psychology,  of  Sociology; 
turn  then  to  the  ponderous  Descriptive  Sociology  made 
under  his  supervision — ar  ^  you  will  not  need  to  be 
told  that  the  man  who  produced  these  works  was  a 
reader  as  well  as  a  thinker. 

When  Spencer  said  that  he  did  not  read  he  meant 
that  he  was  not  much  versed  in  the  literature  of  philos- 
ophy or  in  any  field  of  popular  classics,  and  that  he 
virtually  ignored  the  current  literature  of  his  day. 

But  these  were  not  the  things  that  his  mind  needed. 
He  had  thought  out  the  great  all-encompassing  prin- 
ciple which  he  believed  could  be  applied  as  a  unifying 
thought  throughout  the  entire  domain  of  human  ideas. 
To  prove  his  case,  to  elaborate  his  philosophy,  he  needed 
to  make  his  mind  a  vast  storehouse  of  tangible  facts. 
He  did  not  so  much  need  the  thoughts  of  the  ancients 

[no] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

or  of  any  generation  of  his  predecessors,  as  he  needed 
the  new  facts  supplied  him  by  contemporary  science. 
So  he  ignored  the  one  and  eagerly  sought  the  other. 
Life-long  habits  of  contemplation,  and  generalising 
capacities  of  a  vast  order,  enabled  him  to  dispense  with 
the  full  knowledge  of  the  ideas  of  his  predecessors; 
yet  critics  arc  not  lacking  who  contend  that  Spencer's 
would  have  been  a  far  better  rounded  and  more  perma- 
nent contribution  to  the  history  of  thought,  had  he 
read  more  widely.  But,  be  that  as  it  may,  you  surely 
cannot  afford  to  follow  his  example  in  this  regard,  un- 
less you  can  first  assure  yourself  that  you  have  his 
native  powers  of  generalisation — and  if  such  you  have, 
you  need  no  mentor  in  the  art  of  thinking. 

The  art  of  reading  once  acquired,  it  then  becomes  no 
less  important  to  know  what  use  to  make  of  the  knowl- 
edge that  comes  through  books.  You  must  surely 
read  in  conformity  with  Bacon's  classical  maxim,  "to 
weigh  and  consider."  You  must  classify  your  knowl- 
edge and  store  it,  as  it  were,  in  the  various  compart- 
ments of  your  mind,  else  it  will  never  be  available  when 
you  need  it.  Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  you  must  be- 
ware the  dangers  of  mere  idle  musing.  One  chief 
purpose  of  reading  is  to  give  you  material  for  indepen- 
dent thinking.  The  stimulative  thought  is  useful  just 
in  proportion  as  it  sets  up  new  chains  of  association  in 
your  mind,  broadening  your  horizon ;  but  you  must  not 
mistake  mere  day-dreaming  for  new  and  creative 
thinking. 

Learn  to  stand  sentry  over  your  wandering  thoughts 
and  from  time  to  time  to  challenge  them.    If  you  find 

[hi] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

yourself  day-dreaming,  focalise  your  attention  on  the 
idea  that  is  pictured  in  your  mind  at  the  moment,  and 
then,  reversing  the  mental  process,  follow  back,  ask- 
ing yourself  what  idea  preceded  and  suggested  the  pres- 
ent one,  and  again,  what  was  the  one  a  hnk  farther  re- 
moved, and  so  on  and  on  until  the  chain  breaks.  You 
will  find  that  you  have  come  to  your  thought  of  the 
moment  by  a  tortuous  path.  In  retracing  your  steps, 
you  will  gain  a  lesson  in  the  association  of  ideas.  You 
will  strengthen  your  memory  and  add  to  the  potential 
thinking  capacities  of  your  mind.  You  will  learn 
presently  that  no  process  of  thinking  is  worth  while  that 
does  not  lead  to  some  precise  goal;  and  you  will  be 
amazed  to  find  to  what  extent  you  are  able,  through 
precisely  "intending"  your  mind,  to  add  to  the  range 
of  your  mental  vision. 

Newton  expressly  declared  that  he  made  his  discover- 
ies by  thus  "intending"  his  mind  toward  a  desired  goal; 
and  it  is  self-evident  that  such  discoveries  as  those  of 
Harvey,  of  Jenner,  of  Darwin,  could  not  possibly  have 
been  made  in  any  other  way.  Even  in  such  alien  fields 
as  the  domain  of  the  poet,  quite  the  same  thing  holds 
true.  Not  many  verse-makers  have  taken  the  world 
into  their  confidence  as  Poe  did,  laying  bare  the  mere 
mechanical  process  of  literary  construction;  but  you 
have  only  to  read  even  the  most  "inspired"  imaginings 
of  a  Keats,  a  Shelley,  or  a  Tennyson,  to  see  that  wide 
reading  and  calm  analytical  thinking  made  possible 
their  work,  whatever  the  "  fine  frenzy"  with  which  it  may 
at  last  have  bodied  forth.  That  classical  poems  give 
such  scope  for  editorial  annotation  is  evidence  of  the 

[II2] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

wide  range  of  mere  facts,  with  the  aid  of  which  the  most 
far-reaching  imagery  is  brought  into  being. 

If,  then,  we  admit  the  value  of  knowledge  as  an 
indispensable  aid  to  thinking,  it  scarcely  requires  argu- 
ment to  show  that  such  knowledge  will  be  of  value  in 
proportion  as  it  is  real  and  not  spurious.  And  this 
suggests  the  selection  of  materials  presented  to  the  mind ; 
in  other  words,  the  action  of  selective  judgment.  The 
faculty  of  mind  thus  designated  is  a  complex  one.  If 
anywhere  I  were  to  admit  the  all-importance  of  natural 
endowment  I  think  it  would  be  here ;  for  my  experience 
has  led  me  to  feel  that  judgment  is  to  a  large  extent  in- 
herent, and  consistent  in  its  action  throughout  the  life 
of  each  individual.  I  have  seen  children  whose  judg- 
ment regarding  almost  any  topic  that  can  be  brought 
within  their  comprehension  I  should  prefer  to  that  of  a 
good  many  highly  educated  men.  The  very  phrase  by 
which  judgment  is  designated  in  every-day  speech — 
"common  sense" — is  suggestive  of  its  native  character. 
It  is  "common"  sense  in  the  fullest  inclusiveness  of  the 
word.  Wild  animals  show  a  goodly  measure  of  it. 
Our  remotest  pre-historic  ancestor  must  have  been 
largely  endowed  with  it;  so  must  the  successful  mem- 
bers of  each  successive  generation  of  his  descendants, 
so  long  as  the  hard  conditions  of  savagery,  barbarism, 
and  early  civilization  obtained.  It  is  the  pampering 
conditions  of  the  higher  civilisation  that  have  allowed 
this  endowment  to  become  impaired.  But  even  now 
the  successful  men  possess  it  in  large  measure ;  and  in- 
deed its  possession  is  a  sure  guide  to  success.  With- 
out it  all  knowledge  becomes  more  or  less  formless  and 
8  [113] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

futile;  with  its  guidance,  even  small  knowledge  may 
accomplish  wonders. 

I  have  just  said  that  this  matter  of  common  sense 
or  judgment  is  one  regarding  which  individuals  differ 
vastly.  I  have  suggested  that  some  children  possess  it 
in  marvellous  degree,  while  some  learned  men  lack  it 
quite  as  marvellously.  It  follows  that  the  mere  ac- 
quisition of  knowledge  does  not  necessarily  lead  to  im- 
proved judgment.  What,  then,  can  be  done  toward 
the  acquisition  of  so  desirable  a  trait  ?  I  must  not  pause 
here  to  discuss  at  length  so  large  a  topic.  But  one 
fundamental  rule  may  be  laid  down  as  a  sort  of  chart 
for  guidance.  It  is  this:  subject  your  judgment  to  the 
test  of  comparison;  let  experience  teach  you.  After 
all,  that  is  the  only  true  test.  The  tree  is  known  by  its 
fruit.  Study  the  people  about  you;  observe  their 
actions  and  note  the  character  of  their  decisions.  You 
will  find  that  certain  men  of  your  acquaintance  seem 
almost  uniformly  "lucky"  while  others  are  almost  as 
uniformly  "unlucky."  The  former  succeed  in  what 
they  attempt;  the  latter  fail.  But  the  word  "lucky" 
as  thus  applied  is  a  misnomer.  The  man  who  is 
"lucky"  throughout  a  long  series  of  transactions  is  as- 
suredly the  man  whose  judgment  on  the  average  is 
better  than  that  of  his  fellows.  The  habitually  "  un- 
lucky" man  is  the  man  who  lacks  the  all-essential  ele- 
ments of  common  sense,  about  which  we  are  talking. 

Study  the  successful  man,  then;  note  the  character 
of  his  decisions  as  applied  to  the  particular  conditions 
in  which  he  is  placed,  and  you  will  gain  valuable  lessons 
in   selective   judgment.     Similarly   analyse   your  own 

[114] 


HOW  TO   THINK 

decisions,  as  tested  by  their  results,  remembering  that 
the  best  judgment  sometimes  errs,  but  that  good  judg- 
ment does  not  permit  the  same  error  over  and  over. 
All  such  analysis,  it  may  be  added,  is  but  a  special  case 
within  the  general  rule  of  being  guided  by  experience. 

Most  of  all  will  you  benefit  if  you  have  opportunity  to 
generalise  this  rule  by  taking  specific  training  in  some 
department  of  experimental  science, — such  as  bacteri- 
ology or  physics  or  chemistry.  When,  for  example, 
your  training  in  the  laboratory  has  enabled  you  to  take 
a  minute  quantity  of  some  chemical  and  pass  it  through 
one  process  after  another,  producing  it  now  in  solution, 
now  as  a  salt,  now  as  a  fused  metal,  now  as  a  compound ; 
returning  it  at  last,  perhaps  after  days  of  manipulation, 
to  its  original  state — the  same  in  quantity  to  the  thou- 
sandth of  a  grain,  as  before,  nothing  more,  nothing 
less ; — when  you  have  learned  to  make  such  a  manipula- 
tion as  this  you  will  have  taken  a  lesson  both  in  accuracy 
of  method  and  in  severe  logicality  of  reasoning  from 
cause  to  effect,  which  will  be  far  more  valuable  as  a 
mental  method  than  any  mere  knowledge  of  chemical 
processes  involved  in  your  study.  Here,  indeed,  as 
I  see  it,  Kes  the  real  value  of  scientific  training.  The 
student  who  at  the  end  of  such  manipulation  as  I  have 
just  outlined,  finds  that  his  chemical  has  lost  the  thou- 
sandth of  a  grain  or  so,  knows  that  there  is  no  question 
of  "luck"  involved  in  that.  He  has  carelessly  spilled  a 
drop  or  two  of  one  of  his  solutions,  or  he  has  failed  to 
rinse  out  the  last  dregs  of  a  beaker. 

And  as  here  in  the  laboratory,  so  in  the  great  game  of 
life,  in  the  long  run  there  is  no  such  thing  as  "luck." 

[115] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

A  hundred  tosses  of  the  coin,  a  thousand  even,  may  show 
a  preponderance  of  heads  or  of  tails ;  but  ten  thousand 
throws  or  fifty  thousand  will  strike  the  balance.  When 
the  business  life  of  any  man  numbers  its  decisions  by 
the  tens  of  thousands,  mere  chance  might  make  half 
the  decisions  right,  but  "luck"  will  come  to  the  man 
whose  judgment  gives  the  preponderance  to  the  right 
decisions  as  against  the  wrong  ones. 

It  is  the  province  of  judgment,  then,  to  test  ideas. 
Judgment  will  temper  creative  imagination,  holding  in 
check  visionary  flights  and  the  over-exuberant  play 
of  fancy.  It  will  teach  us  that  good  ideas  to  have  value 
must  be  clear  and  explicit, — must  be  susceptible  of 
lucid  expression.  It  will  guard  against  the  mistake  of 
confounding  obscurity  with  profundity  of  thought. 
But  we  must  not  forget,  on  the  other  hand,  that  the  use  of 
this  selective  faculty  has  its  dangers.  In  some  cases  it 
may  produce  over-caution  and  so  hold  us  back  to  timid 
conservatism.  There  is,  for  example,  a  school  of  mod- 
ern historical  critics  that  suffers  from  this  fault.  Its 
votaries  temper  all  accounts  of  past  events  with  qualify- 
ing clauses.  They  would  reverse  and  modify  the  ver- 
dict of  history  regarding  almost  all  the  noted  characters 
of  the  past.  They  would  have  us  remember  that  after 
all  Nero  was  in  many  ways  a  good  ruler;  that  Marcus 
AureHus  was  not  so  much  better  than  his  contemporaries. 
They  see  in  the  Crusades  a  great  colonising  movement 
with  which  religion  after  all  had  not  much  to  do.  They 
are  not  quite  sure  that  William  the  Conqueror  accom- 
plished a  very  sweeping  victory  at  Hastings;  or,  at 
least,  they  explain  away  the  genius  involved  in  the 

[ii6] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

victory.  They  give  us  a  picture  of  Napoleon  that  leaves 
the  reader  with  a  feeling  that  after  all  this  was  rather 
a  mediocre  man. 

But  you  will  do  well  to  fight  shy  of  this  over-cautious 
criticism,  if  you  would  not  hamper  your  imagination. 
You  may  safely  believe  that,  in  the  main,  the  large  fig- 
ures of  history  have  been  painted  as  posterity  will  con- 
tinue to  think  of  them.  You  will  do  well  to  recall  that 
ideas  are  not  good  simply  because  they  are  new,  and  you 
may  safely  shun  the  guidance  of  the  historical  critic 
whose  iconoclasm  is  but  the  measure  of  his  narrowness. 

But  while  admitting  this,  we  must  also  admit  that  the 
past  transmits  to  us  a  multitude  of  false  ideas,  and  in 
particular  a  tissue  of  false  methods.  Indeed,  the 
greatest  foes  to  progressive  knowledge  are  the  prejudices 
and  pre-conceptions — heritages  from  the  past — which 
bias  the  mind  and,  like  imperfections  in  a  mirror,  dis- 
tort the  image  it  reflects. 

That  you  may  free  your  mind  from  such  bias,  it  is 
well  now  and  again  to  say  to  your  alter  ego:  "Come, 
let  us  reason  together  regarding  the  faith  that  is  in  you. 
You  believe  thus  and  so; — but  why?  In  religion  you 
are  a  Catholic,  an  Episcopalian,  a  Methodist,  or  per- 
chance a  Mohammedan  or  a  Buddhist; — but  why? 
In  politics  you  are  a  Republican,  a  Democrat,  or  a 
so-called  Independent ; — but  why  ?  Is  it  that  you  have 
reasoned  out  the  pros  and  cons  of  each  behef;  that 
you  have  clearly  weighed  the  evidence  on  every  side, 
so  that  your  verdict  has  all  the  force  of  a  wise  judicial 
decision  ?  Or  is  it  that  you  inherit  your  behefs  as  you 
inherit  the  color  of  your  hair  and  eyes?    Are  you  a 

[117] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

Christian  because  you  chance  to  be  bom  in  Europe  or 
America,  and  for  no  better  reason?  Would  you  with 
the  same  unquestioning  faith  have  accepted  the  tenets 
of  Islam,  had  you  chanced  to  be  bom  in  Western  Asia? 
Are  you  a  Republican  because  your  birthplace  was 
Massachusetts  ?  A  Democrat  because  your  parents  live 
in  Georgia?  Or  is  there  in  the  case  of  each  of  your 
beliefs  some  principle  involved  that  appeals  to  you — you, 
an  intellectual  being  gifted  with  the  power  of  choice — 
as  a  convincing  force?" 

As  you  stand  thus  face  to  face  with  yourself,  exer- 
cising this  wondrous  privilege  of  challenging  your  own 
mind,  are  you  pleased  with  the  answer?  Does  the  re- 
sponse give  you  warrant  for  saying  that  your  mind  is  a 
"cold,  clear,  logic  engine";  or  does  it  suggest  that  your 
alleged  reason  is  after  all  only  the  pitiful  image  of  a 
chance  environment?  Are  you  able  to  say  with  pride 
that  you  have  worked  out  your  mind's  salvation  until  it 
stands  forth  untrammeled  from  amidst  the  crude  super- 
stitions, the  false  pre-conceptions,  the  absurd,  incon- 
gmous,  contradictory  beliefs  that  have  come  as  a 
heritage  from  a  past  that  would  shackle  the  present? 
Can  you  claim  even  in  a  limited  sense  that  you  are  a  free 
mental  agent?  But  if  not,  there  should  be  for  you  no 
joy,  but  only  humiliation,  in  the  reiteration  of  that  ec- 
static cry  of  Descartes:  "I  think,  therefore  I  am." 
For  you  do  not  really  think.  Your  brain  serves  merely 
as  a  cobwebbed  structure,  on  which  may  settle  a  little  of 
the  dust  of  ages.  Your  mind  serves  as  little  the  uses  of 
a  progressive  body-politic  as  the  remotest  cobwebbed, 
dust-laden  garret  serves  in  the  domestic  household. 

[ii8] 


HOW  TO  THINK 

Yet  beyond  peradventure,  your  mind  has  better  pos- 
sibilities than  this.  If  you  will  but  make  the  effort  to 
clear  out  its  dusty  chambers,  you  can  in  due  time  make 
it  a  treasure-house  of  ideas.  If  you  will  challenge  your 
prejudices  and  resolve  to  be  no  longer  their  slave,  you 
may  come  to  be  indeed  a  reasoning  being  and  not  a 
mere  thinking  automaton.  If  you  will  cultivate  an 
interest  in  points  of  view  and  aspects  of  life  that  you 
have  hitherto  antagonised,  you  may  develop  unsuspected 
creative  powers ;  for  in  the  last  analysis  sympathy  is  the 
mother  of  imagination.  And  when,  even  in  the  small- 
est way,  you  have  known  the  joys  of  creative  think- 
ing, you  will  have  shared  in  some  measure  in  the  sub- 
limest  privilege  that  nature  has  vouchsafed  to  man; 
you  will  have  grown  away  from  your  former  self;  you 
will  have  found  new  meanings  in  life;  stage  by  stage 
you  will  have  risen  "on  stepping-stones  of  your  dead 
self  to  higher  things"  than  you  had  hitherto  conceived. 


[119] 


"  Those  who  know  not  wisdom  and  virtue  and  are  always 
busy  with  gluttony  and  sensuality  go  down  and  up  again  so 
far  as  the  mean;  and  in  this  space  they  move  at  random 
throughout  life,  but  they  never  pass  into  the  true  upper  world; 
thither  they  neither  look,  nor  do  they  ever  find  their  way, 
neither  are  they  truly  filled  with  true  being,  nor  do  they  taste 
of  true  and  abiding  pleasure."  — Plato. 


Chapter    VII 

THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY 

"Happiness  is  no  more  than  soundness  and  perfection 
of  mind."  — Marcus  Aurelius. 


"  There  is  no  thought  in  any  mind,  but  it  quickly  tends  to 
convert  itself  into  a  power  and  organizes  a  huge  instrumentality 
of  means."  — Emerson. 


VII 

THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY 

THE  will  is  the  rudder  of  the  mind.  It  does 
not  propel,  but  it  does  direct.  The  man 
that  has  not  attained  stability  of  will  power — 
fixity  of  purpose — is  like  a  rudderless  ship.  He  is  a 
human  derelict  in  the  vast  purposeful  ocean  of  life. 
He  must  drift  hither  and  yon  with  each  chance  current. 
Unable  to  stem  the  tide,  he  must  go  with  it,  though  it 
carry  him  on  the  shoals,  dash  him  ruthlessly  among  the 
breakers,  or  sweep  him  into  pitiless  maelstroms.  It 
is  will  power  and  will  power  alone  that  can  guide  him 
away  from  these  dangers,  enabling  him  to  defy  the 
chance  current,  to  breast  the  tide,  to  guide  the  bark  of 
life  into  remote,  predicted  harbors. 

In  other  words,  it  is  will  power  alone  that  can  assure 
success  in  any  field  of  life.  An  organism  that  lacked 
this  faculty  must  be  purely  passive,  purely  receptive. 
Perception,  memory,  association  of  ideas  might  furnish  it 
the  materials  for  self-consciousness.  It  could  feel,  re- 
member, imagine,  reason;  but  it  would  exist  for  itself 
alone.  It  could  never  make  its  conscious  existence  man- 
ifest. It  could  merely  harbor  the  impressions  that  came 
to  it,  giving  nothing  in  return. 

The  actual  mind,  on  the  other  hand,  is  essentially 
reactive.  The  same  organism  that  is  the  medium  of  en- 
trance of  impressions  is  also  the  medium  of  response. 
The  character  of  the  response  is  simplicity  itself.     It 

[123] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

consists  in  a  readjustment  of  the  molecules  of  the  proto- 
plasmic body,  by  which  is  effected  a  motion  of  that  body 
as  a  whole.  In  higher  forms  of  life,  we  speak  of  this  as 
muscular  contraction.  The  only  tangible  thing  that 
the  highest  mind  can  accomplish  in  response  to  any  im- 
pulse, is  to  bring  about  the  contraction  of  the  muscles 
of  the  body  with  which  that  mind  is  inseparably  linked. 

The  responsive  capacity  of  mind  is  therefore  in  its 
elements  as  simple  as  the  receptive  capacity.  But  the 
results,  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other,  become  marvel- 
lously complex.  The  simplest  organism  responds  directly 
and  immediately  to  every  impulse  that  impinges  upon 
it.  But  the  higher  organism,  receiving  a  multitude 
of  impulses  momentarily,  could  not  possibly  respond 
at  once  to  them  all;  so  it  develops  the  capacity  to 
restrain  some  responses,  storing  the  energy  that  would 
go  to  make  up  these  responses  or  deflecting  it  into  an- 
other channel.  Thus  some  responses  are  prohibited 
while  others  are  increased  beyond  their  normal  de- 
gree of  reaction.  This  inhibition  on  the  one  hand  and 
direction  on  the  other  is  the  work  of  volition.  The  first 
part  of  its  function  is  quite  as  essential  as  the  second, 
though  this  is  not  infrequently  overlooked  by  the  analyst. 

This  power  of  voHtion,  then,  in  its  developed  form, 
comes  to  take  its  place  not  strictly  on  a  plane  with  the 
other  mental  capacities;  but  rather  to  sit  above  them, 
holding  the  whip  hand,  and  determining  what  sensa- 
tions merit  a  response,  and  what  particular  forms  of  com- 
bined ideas  shall  be  permitted  to  have  outward  ex- 
pression through  the  muscles.  When  it  has  decided, 
its  mission  is,  as  it  were,  to  unbolt  the  door  in  a  certain 

[124] 


THE  WILL  AND  THE  WAY 

direction  and  let  some  of  the  accumulated  energy  es- 
cape. It  can  originate  no  energy,  can  add  nothing  to 
the  power  of  the  response  that  the  original  impressions 
have  generated.  The  organism  can  give  back  no  energy 
it  does  not  receive.  But,  as  has  been  said,  accumulated 
energy  from  inhibited  responses  may  be  directed  into 
one  channel  with  such  force  as  to  have  the  effect  of 
generated  energy.  Our  every-day  conduct  is  full  of 
illustrations.  Most  of  our  complex  actions  take  place 
in  response  to  stimuli  that  in  themselves  are  insignifi- 
cant, but  which  gain  importance  through  associated  im- 
plications; as  when  the  housewife,  seeing  a  speck  of 
dirt,  responds  by  scrubbing  the  entire  house. 

It  is  plain,  then,  that  this  Volition  is  the  master 
upon  which  depends  the  entire  question  of  the  mind's 
active  relations  with  its  environment.  And — what  is 
more  important — it  even  enters  into  the  passive  or  re- 
ceptive functions  also,  in  that  it  can  decide  as  to  such 
movements  of  the  organism  as  shall  make  the  impinge- 
ment of  new  impressions  possible.  In  comparison 
with  such  power,  the  other  capacities  of  mind  seem 
to  dwindle.  This  seems  to  be  the  domineering,  the 
all-important  capacity.  Of  what  could  it  avail  that 
the  organism  is  intrinsically  of  the  most  sensitive; 
that  its  impressions  are  fixed  by  memory  as  if  graven  in 
marble;  that  its  associations  are  wide  and  intense  and 
clear  and  logical — if  volition  refuse  to  let  them  properly 
respond,  or  decline  to  allow  the  organism  to  be  placed 
where  new  data  can  come  to  it  through  the  senses? 

This  is  precisely  the  rock  against  which  the  largest 
number  of  brilliant  minds  are  wrecked.     Most  of  us 

[125] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

can  recall  some  college  companions  who  were  conceded 
to  be  of  superior  mind — receptive,  tenacious  of  mem- 
ory, brilliant  in  associational  power — who  went  out  to 
flat  failure  in  the  practical  world,  misdirecting  their 
energies,  dissipating  them  over  wide  fields  to  little  pur- 
pose, never  finding  the  right  niche  in  life.  Any  one  of 
these  men,  had  he  directed  his  energies  into  a  single 
channel,  holding  himself  to  a  single  path,  might  have 
accomplished  wonders;  but  the  very  receptiveness  of 
his  mind  was  his  doom.  It  showed  him  glimpses  into 
wide  fields,  suggested  devious  paths  of  life;  and  voli- 
tion faltering,  wavering,  turning  this  way  and  that  to 
little  purpose,  let  energies  that  might  have  sufficed  for 
great  things  be  frittered  away  in  unconcentrated  efforts. 
And  meantime,  perhaps,  the  dull  unreceptive  lad  who 
was  the  butt  of  the  class  has  gone  ahead,  directing  all 
his  energy  into  some  certain  path,  until  at  last  he  has 
come  to  heights  that  seemed  far  beyond  his  strength. 
His  was  the  "genius  of  accomplishment." 

In  speaking  thus,  I  may  seem  to  confound  volition 
with  judgment,  but  such  confusion  is  apparent  only. 
Judgment  is  the  last  step  of  reason  that  precedes  voli- 
tion, hence  the  two  are  in  close  alliance,  and  it  is  some- 
times difficult  to  keep  them  clearly  distinguished. 
But  I  am  referring  now  to  cases  in  which  judgment  is 
good,  but  in  which  its  decisions  are  not  carried  out  by 
volition.  Of  course  there  are  countless  cases  in  which 
judgment  itself  is  at  fault,  but  these  do  not  concern 
us  now.  In  the  cases  I  have  in  mind  there  is  no  defect 
of  reasoning  power.  The  judgments  reached  are  clear 
and  logical;  but  volition  does  not  support  them. 

[126] 


THE   WILL  AND   THE   WAY 

Let  me  give  a  typical  illustration  from  every-day 
experience.  An  ambitious  young  man  determines  to 
make  himself  master  of  some  particular  branch  of 
knowledge,  which  judgment  tells  him  will  be  of  use  to 
to  him ;  he  determines,  let  us  say,  to  acquire  a  foreign 
language.  He  enters  upon  the  task  with  enthusiasm, 
studying  several  hours  the  first  day  and  perhaps  as 
much  each  following  day  for  a  week.  Then  some- 
thing interferes,  and  he  skips  a  day  or  two.  His  enthu- 
siasm begins  to  wane;  and  by  another  week  he  has 
given  up  his  task  altogether  for  the  time  being.  For 
six  months  he  fails  to  look  in  his  books  at  all. 

Now  here  there  has  been  no  change  of  judgment  what- 
ever. The  young  man  is  just  as  fully  convinced  of  the 
desirability  of  mastering  that  language  at  the  end  of 
the  six  months  as  he  was  at  the  beginning;  perhaps  this 
realisation  has  grown  upon  him,  rather  than  decreased. 
Probably  he  makes  some  new  resolutions,  and  "begins 
over."  But  he  merely  repeats  his  former  experience. 
And  very  likely  at  the  end  of  ten  years  the  desire  to  know- 
that  language  is  just  as  strong  as  ever,  and  the  ac- 
complishment not  much  greater  than  it  was  at  the  end 
of  the  first  week's  study;  a  dozen  starts  and  as  many 
relapses  having  been  made  in  the  meantime.  I  sub- 
mit to  the  opinions  of  almost  any  competent  observer 
whether  in  his  experience  far  more  failures  in  life  have 
not  been  due  to  such  volitional  inconstancy  as  this  than 
to  defective  faculties  of  perception,  recollection,  or  as- 
sociation. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  person  gifted  with  voli- 
tional constancy  is  bound  to  win.    Such  a  one  starting 

[127] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

out  to  learn  the  language  lets  nothing  interfere  with  his 
purpose.  At  the  end  of  a  week  he  may  not  have  gone 
half  as  far  as  the  other  student  has  gone.  But  at  the 
end  of  ten,  twenty  weeks  he  is  still  plodding  on.  When 
six  months  are  gone  he  is  still  giving  just  as  many  hours 
a  day  to  his  task  as  when  he  began.  Presently  he  has 
added  that  language  to  his  stock  of  knowledge  in  such 
form  as  to  be  available  for  his  purpose;  then  he  is 
ready  for  new  conquests. 

Of  course  I  use  the  illustration  of  the  language  only 
as  a  symbol.  The  man  who  falters  and  vacillates  about 
the  language  will  similarly  falter  about  all  the  serious 
tasks  of  life ;  the  other  will  as  surely  work  on  faithfully 
and  steadily  towards  his  desired  goal.  The  first,  though 
"brilliant,"  will  fail  of  great  accomplishment;  the  other, 
though  "dull,"  may  achieve  great  results  in  the  battle  of 
life.  Perception,  memory,  and  association  are  the  brick 
and  mortar;  volition  is  the  builder.  And  with  mind 
as  in  the  material  world,  the  finest  brick  and  the  best 
mortar  make  but  a  shapeless  mass  of  useless  material 
until  placed  in  position  by  the  master  builder.  Or, 
to  adopt  yet  another  figure,  it  may  be  said  that  volition 
is  the  king  of  mind.  The  other  faculties  are  the  sub- 
jects. With  their  aid  the  king  wins  his  battles,  but 
without  the  king  the  subjects  can  do  nothing.  What 
were  Napoleon's  finest  army  without  Napoleon? 

The  lesson  of  it  all  is  that  he  who  would  become  an 
able  man  must  strive  to  gain  volitional  control  over  his 
faculties.  A  good  king  will  have  good  subjects,  and  he 
whose  volition  has  been  trained  to  act  firmly  will  find  the 

[128] 


THE   WILL  AND   THE   WAY 

other  powers  of  mind  increasing  as  the  power  of  will 
increases.  Most  men  have  sufficient  capacity  of  per- 
ception, memory,  and  association  to  accomplish  great 
things  in  this  world  if  these  powers  were  properly 
directed.  It  is  a  familiar  comment  of  educators  that 
an  hour  a  day  given  to  almost  any  single  subject  will 
make  an  ordinary  man  learned  in  that  branch  of  knowl- 
edge in  a  lifetime.  But  few  men  find  themselves  able  to 
give  that  hour'  a  day,  even  though  the  thirst  for  knowl- 
edge be  strong  upon  them.  They  lack  stability  of 
volitional  guidance. 

The  chief  purpose  of  schooHng  is  to  supply  this  de- 
fect. The  colleges  are  important  not  so  much  because 
of  what  they  teach,  as  because  they  train  volition  so 
that  in  future  it  may  be  an  ever  present  teacher.  This 
is  what  is  impHed  by  the  "mental  discipline"  of  an 
education.  Of  course  the  other  faculties  are  also  de- 
veloped pari  passu.  Perception  is  sharpened,  mem- 
ory becomes  more  reliable,  comparisons  of  ideas  be- 
come wider  as  more  material  is  supplied  for  them; 
a  degree  of  general  culture  is  attained.  But  the 
chiefest  thing  is  the  degree  of  voHtional  stability  that 
is  gained. 

And  this  is  one  reason  why  the  brilliant  student,  who 
has  to  study  but  little  to  keep  ahead  of  his  fellows,  so 
often  comes  to  naught  in  the  world.  He  has  ac- 
quired little  volitional  discipline,  because  little  effort 
was  required  to  keep  the  average  pace.  The  dullard, 
on  the  other  hand,  having  to  struggle  hard  to  keep  in 
sight  of  his  fellows,  gained  the  most  valuable  ac- 
complishment of  all,  a  trained  power  of  application. 
9  [129] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

This  is  by  far  the  best  prize  that  any  student  can  carry 
from  college  halls. 

One  reason  why  men  of  genius  so  often  fail  to  profit  by 
college  education  is  that  they  possess  inherent  powers 
of  appHcation  along  the  lines  of  a  strong  native  bent, 
and  the  college  curriculum  cripples  rather  than  aids 
their  volitional  powers,  by  diverting  them  from  an  al- 
ready fixed  purpose.  "Thrice  happy,"  says  Emerson, 
"is  the  man  who  is  born  with  a  bias  for  some  pursuit 
that  finds  him  always  in  employment."  Why?  Be- 
cause he  has  an  inherent  volitional  impulse  toward  a 
definite  goal. 

The  man  who  is  not  born  with  such  an  inherent  pre- 
dominating impulse  must  develop  such  an  impulse  if 
he  would  succeed  in  life.  It  is  to  this  end  that  a  proper 
environment  in  childhood  is  so  important.  A  properly 
educated  youth  begins  the  battle  with  a  developed  power 
of  volition  that  almost  insures  success. 

But  failing  of  such  education — and  many  a  college 
graduate  does  so  fail — what  can  be  done  to  make 
amends  for  the  deficiency  by  self-culture?  Surely  the 
will  cannot  strengthen  itself  by  willing  to  be  stronger? 
Not  directly,  it  is  true;  but  indirectly  it  may,  through 
the  agency  of  the  body  with  its  habit-forming  tendency. 
Persistent  wilhng  in  one  direction  is  after  all  only  a 
habit  of  mind  fully  established.  And  habits,  mental 
or  physical,  are  formed  by  action  and  by  action  only. 

Physical  habits  all  have  a  mental  counterpart,  and 
when  the  body  has  been  trained  to  almost  automatic 
action  in  such  lines  as  shall  tend  toward  the  desired  goal, 
the  will  has  been  enormously  strengthened  by  the  with- 

[130] 


THE   WILL  AND  THE   WAY 

drawal  of  the  bodily  inertia  that  is  often  one  of  its  worst 
opponents. 

A  disciphned  mind  can  reside  only  in  a  disciplined 
body.  And  discipline  is  difficult.  The  body  tends  to 
seek  the  line  of  least  resistance.  This  is  seldom  the  line 
of  progress,  but  rather  of  degeneration,  of  recurrence  to  a 
primitive  type  or  condition.  Body  and  mind  must  be 
trained  to  seek  the  right  hnes  of  action,  and  only  when 
these  right  lines  have  become  in  any  individual  case 
the  lines  of  least  resistance — the  easiest  action  now  co- 
inciding with  the  best — has  culture  been  attained. 

Most  people,  as  I  have  said  before,  go  a  lifetime 
without  ever  learning  properly  how  to  arise  in  the  morn- 
ing, though  they  practise  rising  every  morning  of  their 
lives.  Habits  of  sleeping  should  be  such  that  when 
the  organism  has  had  required  rest  it  cannot  without 
effort  recline  longer.  Arising  in  the  morning  should  be 
the  easiest  and  most  spontaneous  of  habits.  One 
should  find  himself  spontaneously  standing  by  the  bed- 
side, almost  coincidently  with  the  return  of  conscious- 
ness. Emanuel  Kant  arose  at  precisely  the  same 
minute  each  day  for  thirty  years.  But  most  people 
either  drowse  away  the  best  hours  of  their  lives  in  bed, 
or  else  drag  themselves  out  with  ever  recurring  difficulty. 
And  their  day  but  repeats  the  experience  of  the  morn- 
ing. 

We  should  be  driven  automatically  to  our  work  at  a 
given  hour,  instead  of  taking  it  up  grudgingly  and  in- 
termittently. And  this  should  apply  to  mental  work 
as  well  as  physical.  Most  successful  artists  and  authors 
even,  learn  this  lesson  finallv,  and,  instead  of  waiting 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

for  inspiration,  drive  themselves  to  the  task  at  a  given 
time,  and  grind  away  regardless  of  desire  for  rest  till 
a  reasonable  work  is  done.  Ncni  dies  sine  linea — 
no  day  without  its  line — is  the  rule  that  has  produced 
the  major  part  of  the  world's  best  literature  in  every 
generation.  Finally  the  habit  of  beginning  at  a  certain 
hour  is  fixed.  Then  it  is  easy  to  work  at  that  time; 
the  inspiration  comes  without  the  seeking;  and  the 
genius  of  accomplishment  has  been  acquired.  Practice 
brings  improvement  at  least  if  not  perfection;  but  the 
practice  must  be  persistent  and  uninterrupted  while  the 
habit  is  forming.  The  will  must  battle  steadily  against 
bodi'ly  tendencies.  Gradually,  however,  as  the  body 
is  driven  regularly  to  its  task,  it  begins  to  acquire  the 
habit  of  seeking  the  task.  At  last  it  aids  the  will  in- 
stead of  hindering  it.  Then  comes  efficient,  friction- 
less  action. 

Thus  supported,  tested,  rationalized,  with  ambition  for 
the  motive  power,  that  rudder  of  the  mind,  the  will,  can 
surely  guide  you  to  success  in  life.  Success  or  failure 
must  be  the  final  test  of  your  ability; — not  of  necessity 
success  as  the  world  usually  counts  it,  but  successful 
striving  toward  some  goal  that  you  in  your  sanest 
moments  think  desirable.  And  in  being  guided  to 
such  a  coveted  goal,  you  have  been  guided  also  to  one 
gateway  of  the  domain  of  happiness. 


[132] 


Chapter    VIII 
SELF   KNOWLEDGE 

"Irresistible  power  and  great  wealth  may  up  to  a  certain 
point  give  us  security;  but  the  security  of  men  in  general  de- 
pends upon  the  tranquillity  of  their  souls  and  their  freedom 
from  ambition."  — Epictetus. 


"There  are  two  sentences  inscribed  upon  the  Delphic 
oracle,  hugely  accommodated  to  the  usages  of  man's  life: 
'Know  thyself,'  and  'Nothing  too  much'j  and  upon  these 
all  other  precepts  depend."  — Plutarch. 


VIII 


SELF  KNOWLEDGE 


ELIHU  BURRITT,  "the  learned  blacksmith"— 
himself  a  marvellous  example  of  the  power 
of  application — used  to  deliver  a  lecture  en- 
titled ''Poets  made,  not  born."  All  the  arguments  of 
the  preceding  chapter  might  be  said  to  sustain  this 
thesis.  But  it  would  be  absurd  to  deny  that,  after  all, 
every  man  is  born  with  certain  limitations,  no  less 
than  with  certain  capacities.  Not  every  man,  if  he 
were  to  labor  assiduously  from  childhood,  could  learn  to 
paint  the  "Last  Supper"  or  the  "Last  Judgment"  or 
to  write  "Hamlet"  or  "Faust."  The  man  that  tips 
the  scale  at  one  hundred  and  twenty  pounds  must  not 
enter  the  athletic  arena  with  a  Hackenschmidt,  a  Gotch, 
or  a  Jeffries;  and  the  mind  has  its  definite  limitations 
no  less  than  the  body,  even  though  they  be  less  tangible. 

With  wisdom,  then,  may  we  heed  the  symbolic 
warning  of  the  Greek  sculptor  Eunus,  who  is  said  to 
have  graven  near  an  altar  not  Hope  merely  but  also 
Nemesis, — "the  former  that  thou  mayest  have  hope, 
the  latter  that  thou  mayest  not  hope  too  much." 

Of  similar  import  was  the  symbolism  of  the  old 
Greek  temple  that  bore  over  its  successive  doors  the 
legend  "Be  brave;  Be  Brave;  Be  Brave";  but,  as  a 
curious  anti-chmax,  over  the  last  door  "Be  not  too 
Brave."    And  there  was  sound  philosophy  in  the  seem- 

[135] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

ing  paradox.  There  is  a  time  when  seeming  courage 
becomes  mere  foolhardiness ;  there  are  Hmitations  be- 
yond which  the  wise  man  will  not  strive.  There  are 
goals  which  every  man  of  ordinary  endowment  must 
admit  to  be  beyond  his  reach. 

It  becomes  then  a  practical  question  for  every  indi- 
vidual as  to  what  are  the  proper  limits  of  his  ambition. 

There  is  but  one  way  to  decide  this  all-important 
question,  and  that  is  embodied  in  Thales'  maxim, 
"Know  Thyself."  Study  your  owti  pecuharities  and 
capacities  of  mind.  In  particular  compare  your  own 
mental  attributes  with  the  attributes  of  those  about 
you.  Otherwise  your  studies  will  avail  nothing,  for 
you  are  sure  to  become  the  victim  of  self-illusion.  Your 
self-analysis  will  cause  you  to  emphasise  such  traits  as 
you  desire  to  possess,  and  you  will  visualise  yourself 
as  a  far  different  being  from  what  you  really  are. 

The  only  real  test  is  the  practical  one  of  comparison 
with  others.  Just  as  the  would-be  champion  athlete 
tests  his  powers  with  one  competitor  after  another  until 
finally  he  finds  Ms  level,  so  you  must  test  your  mind 
against  the  minds  with  which  it  comes  in  contact  until 
you  too  know  your  place.  There  is  more  unhappiness 
in  the  world  because  so  many  people  fail  to  find  their 
proper  niche  in  life  than  for  almost  any  other  single 
reason.  It  is  not  by  any  means  exclusively  the  case  that 
people  aim  too  high;  there  are  many  who  from  over- 
modesty  aim  too  low.  To  these  quite  as  much  as  to 
the  over-ambitious  it  will  be  of  advantage  to  test  out  their 
capacities  and  to  learn  to  know  the  real  measure  of  their 
potential  abilities. 

[136] 


SELF  KNOWLEDGE 

The  test  of  your  capacities  begins  to  be  made  even 
while  you  are  at  school,  but  the  decisions  of  the  school- 
room are  not  to  be  taken  as  final.  Many  a  youth  with 
small  aptitude  for  book-studies  proves  an  efficient 
worker  in  the  field  of  business,  so  soon  as  the  chance 
offers.  But  such  cases  are,  after  all,  somewhat  ex- 
ceptional. As  a  general  rule  capacity  to  succeed  in  one 
direction  implies  capacity  to  succeed  in  other  directions, 
— though  the  element  of  actual,  earnest  effort  must  be 
taken  into  account.  Some  students  fail  to  get  on  be- 
cause they  do  not  really  try  to  get  on.  In  any  event, 
your  earliest  ventures  in  business  or  professional  life 
will  give  clues  both  as  to  your  capacities  and  your  real 
interests  that  should  not  be  lightly  ignored. 

When  these  first  practical  efforts  give  assurance  of 
ability  at  all  beyond  the  ordinary,  there  is  one  question 
that  comes  to  a  very  large  majority  of  youth  year  by  year, 
the  solution  of  which  may  determine  almost  everything, 
pro  or  contra,  concerning  their  future  happiness. 
This  is  the  question  of  village-life  versus  city-hfe; — for 
it  may  be  assumed  that  comparatively  few  of  the  leaders 
of  any  generation  are  born  in  a  city.  In  our  day,  as  in 
all  previous  generations,  the  country  is  the  birth-place 
of  most  men  of  power.  But  now  as  always,  few  indeed 
are  the  men  of  power  who  are  content  to  remain  in 
their  natal  villages,  without  at  least  casting  wistful 
glances  towards  the  centres  of  population. 

To  most  young  men,  indeed,  whatever  their  mental 
status,  it  seems  that  life  is  stagnant  in  the  village,  and 
that  the  city  must  have  the  stir  and  bustle  that  keep 
men  alive.     To  the  metropolis  flock  the  wealth  and 

[137] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

brains  of  the  nation.  There  one  must  move  on  or  be 
swept  under  by  the  remorselessly  progressive  tide. 
There  is  a  fascination  about  this  active  struggle  for 
existence  and  supremacy  that  appeals  convincingly  to  the 
active  mind  of  youth.  To  vaulting  ambition  it  seems 
that  the  field  for  work  in  any  profession  in  a  country 
village,  or  even  in  a  smaller  city,  is  so  narrow,  so  self- 
limited  that  no  strong  mind  can  long  endure  its 
trammels. 

And  there  is  surely  a  measure  of  reason  in  this  view. 
The  world's  creative  work,  has  always  been  accom- 
plished for  the  most  part  under  the  stimulus  of  city 
life.  Nor  may  we  too  lightly  decry  the  ambition  that 
would  test  its  powers  where  the  game  is  hottest;  for 
after  all  ambition  is  the  world's  progressive  lever. 
"A  contented  mind  is  a  perpetual  feast," — but  who 
wishes  to  be  forever  gormandizing.  It  is  also  written, 
"Enough  is  as  good  as  a  feast."  And  does  not  cvery-^ 
one  know  that  hunger  is  more  stimulative,  not  to  say 
inspiring,  than  satiety? 

There  is  a  stimulus  in  a  gnawing  stomach  that  has 
been  the  genesis  of  all  the  progress  of  animate  creation. 
Man  would  never  have  evolved  from  bestiality  in  a 
world  in  which  continuous  feasting  was  a  practicability. 
Only  when  hunger  presses  does  the  lion  sally  forth  to 
seek  its  quarry.  Only  when  hunger  urged  did  the 
cave  man  think  of  new  weapons,  new  methods  of  at- 
tack, that  helped  him  along  the  road  to  civilization. 
Only  when  that  soul-hunger  called  ambition  gnaws  at 
the  brain,  does  civilized  man  seek  to  steer  his  mental 
bark  out  of  the  doldrums  of  inane  satiety. 

[138] 


SELF  KNOWLEDGE 

We  must  take  heed,  then,  I  repeat,  how  we  too  rashly 
deprecate  the  ambition  that  stimulates  to  progressive 
action.  The  world  has  use  for  every  superior  mind. 
The  "mute  inglorious  Milton"  is  forgotten  and  de- 
serves to  be  forgotten,  since  he  has  done  naught  for 
which  to  be  remembered.  It  is  the  voiceful,  glorious 
Milton,  known  by  his  works,  whom  the  world  loves  to 
remember.  But  he  himself  would  never  have  known 
his  power  had  he  not  striven  to  rise. 

So  when  we  see  the  eager  youth  from  the  country 
casting  wistful  glances  toward  the  vortex  of  the  city, 
we  must  needs  hesitate  before  we  declare  that  he  is 
yearning  after  false  ideals.  Most  of  those  that  try  that 
fiery  contest  will  beyond  peradventure  be  found  want- 
ing; yet  now  and  then  there  issues  from  the  motley 
throng  a  man  of  genius.  According  to  those  standards 
which  Nature  has  everywhere  established  for  organic 
beings,  this  is  as  much  as  could  be  hoped.  From  the 
standpoint  of  world-progress,  what  matters  the  loss  of 
the  thousands  of  mediocre  minds— what  matters  the 
agony  of  spirit  in  which  their  lives  are  blotted  out- 
compared  to  the  gain  through  genesis  of  one  of  these 
superior  minds  ?  Napoleon's  cynical "  Canst  thou  make 
an  omelette  without  spoiling  eggs?"  applies  no  less  in 
struggles  of  civic  life  than  on  the  veritable  battlefield. 

Yet  even  while  we  admit  all  this,  and  are  disposed  in 
the  interests  of  human  progress  to  do  obeisance  to  the 
great  master-builder  of  civilisation.  King  Discontent, 
we  may  challenge,  from  the  standpoint  of  our  present 
thesis,  the  beneficence  of  over-ambition  for  the  indi- 
vidual.   We  may  scarcely  doubt  that  even  though  am- 

[139] 


THE   SCIENCE   O*  HAPPINESS 

bition  makes  for  progress,  yet  contentment  makes 
for  individual  happiness.  At  least  we  may  urge,  then, 
that  the  wise  individual  w^ill  put  his  ambition  to  the  test 
of  some  comparisons,  and  will  hold  it  somewhat  in  check, 
till  he  has  proved  his  nascent  power.  Even  the  eaglet 
does  not  soar  high  in  air  till  it  has  amply  tested  its 
wings. 

It  may  chance  that  such  testing  of  your  wings  will 
convince  you,  as  you  gain  self-knowledge,  that  your 
proper  sphere  of  action  is  to  be  found  rather  in  the  rela- 
tive quiescence  of  the  village  than  in  the  turmoil  of  the 
city.  Surely  then  it  will  redound  to  your  usefulness 
in  the  world  and  to  your  individual  happiness  if  you 
early  learn  to  interpret  the  verdict  of  Nature,  and  adapt 
yourself  to  the  idea  of  making  the  most  of  what  you 
may  be,  instead  of  futilely  striving  after  what  you  may 
not  achieve.  The  earlier  you  attain  such  self-knowl- 
edge, the  fuller  may  be  the  measure  of  your  self- 
content,  n^ 

Desirable  though  it  certainly  is,  however,  to  understand 
your  own  propensities  and  capabilities,  you  should  know 
that  there  is  no  more  morbid  mental  practise  than  that  of 
habitual  self-analysis.  Some  vain  and  selfish  persons 
are  forever  dramatizing  their  woes,  and  seeing  them- 
selves  as  on  a  stege.  Beware  of  this  p^rtjcular  form 
of  egotism.  JutliiC  yourself  by  the  results  of  your  ef- 
forts rather  than  by  your '.^preconceived  estimate  of 
them.  I  do  not  suggest,  6|j;ourse,  that  you  try  a  thing 
once  and,  failyjg,  decide  thS  you  can  never  do  it.  Try 
again  and  again;  but  if  you  fail  after  a  reasonable  ef- 
fort ask  yourself  if  there  be  not  some  other  field  more 

[  140  ] 


SELF  KNOWLEDGE 

adapted  to  your  aspirations.  Better  a  good  artisan 
than  a  poor  artist. 

Nor  is  ambition  a  sure  guide  to  capacity.  Many 
a  person  aspires  to  do  what  he  can  never  do ;  indeed  it 
seems  as  if  a  large  proportion  of  minds  aim  in  the  wrong 
direction.  This  perhaps  is  largely  because  ambition 
is  so  much  a  matter  of  propinquity.  You  will  find 
nine  times  out  of  ten  that  sundry  relatives  of  a  literary 
man  try  their  hand  sooner  or  later  at  writing,  though 
they  had  no  inherent  bent  in  that  direction.  It  is 
natural  that  we  should  wish  to  be  able  to  do  the  things 
that  we  see  our  friends  doing.  But  the  desire  is  illusive. 
You  should  strive  to  live  your  own  life,  not  merely  to 
reflect  the  hfe  of  another. 

And  worst  of  all,  if  you  try  to  do  a  thing  for  which 
you  are  not  adapted,  you  will  fail  to  gain  the  two  great 
keys  to  success — self-confidence  and  enthusiasm.  How 
can  you  be  confident  about  the  thing  you  find  hard  to 
do  but  which  your  friend  does  with  ease?  How  can 
you  love  a  task  that  you  do  so  ill?  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  you  find  the  task  for  which  you  are  adapted, 
your  measure  of  success  will  give  you  confidence;  con- 
fidence will  lead  to  yet  keener  application,  and  this  to  yet 
greater  success.  Meanwhile  successes  the  sure  har- 
binger of  enthusiasm;  and  enthusiasm,  needless  to  say, 
is  in  turn  the  sure  promoter  of  unremitting  effort.  En- 
thusiasm, indeed,  is  the  very  core  of  creative  genius. 
"Without  enthusiasm,"  says  Emerson,  voicing  the 
experience  of  all  mankind,  "no  great  work  was  ever 
yet  accomplished." 

Yet  even  here  another  word  of  caution.     Be  an  en- 

[141] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

thusiast  whatever  else  you  are ;  but  put  your  enthusiasm 
to  the  test  of  common  sense.  Be  sure  you  are  right  be- 
fore you  go  ahead  too  persistently.  If  your  effort  is 
one  that  can  find  a  practical  test,  apply  that  test;  and 
do  not  be  afraid  to  change  if  you  find  that  you  are  wrong. 
The  most  successful  business  man  I  know  admits  that 
he  makes  more  mistakes  than  most  of  his  fellows;  but  he 
recovers  from  his  mistakes  and  gets  on  the  right  track  in 
time  to  surpass  his  less  enthusiastic  competitors.  He 
could  never  do  that  were  he  not  an  optimist  and  an 
enthusiast. 

But  note  also  that  his  enthusiasm  is  tempered  by 
that  saving  grace  of  common  sense,  else  he  could  not 
recognise  his  mistakes  and  retrace  his  false  steps. 
Without  that  saving  grace,  self  confidence  guided  by 
enthusiasm  would  lead  more  likely  to  visionary  fanat- 
icism than  to  practical  goals.  Beware  that  ignis 
jatuus.  The  task  of  the  reformer  is  a  noble  one,  but 
make  sure  that  your  reforms  are  valid. 

"There  are  a  thousand  hacking  at  the  branches  of 
the  tree  of  evil,"  says  Thoreau,  "where  one  strikes  at 
the  root." 

ISIake  sure  that  you  not  only  strike  at  the  root,  but 
that  your  tree  of  evil  is  an  actuality  and  not  the  mango 
tree  of  a  conjuror.  Remember,  as  a  general  proposi- 
tion, that  if  you  oppose  the  conventional ideas  of  society 
you  are  probably  wrong;  for  these  ideas  are  the  slow 
growth  of  the  centuries.  Yet  it -is  always  possible  that 
you  are  right;  but  before  you  can  feel  sure  you  must 
study  the  past ;  you  must  learn  what  others  have  thought 
and  said  on  the  same  subject. 

[142] 


SELF  KNOWLEDGE 

The  chances  are  that  you  will  find  that  your  new  revo- 
lutionary idea  was  discussed  by  the  followers  of  the  early 
Egyptian  Pharaohs,  by  the  magicians  of  old  Babylonia, 
or,  at  the  very  latest,  by  Pythagoras  or  Plato.  The 
so-called  oldest  book  in  the  world,  the  Prisse  Papyrus, 
dating  from  Egypt  of  the  third  millennium  B.C.,  voices 
the  plaintive  regret  of  an  old  man  who  finds  that 
things  are  not  what  they  were  in  the  golden  days  of 
old.  Such  pessimism,  with  its  heritage  of  destructive 
criticism,  is  the  product  of  every  age,  and  must  be 
taken  with  due  allowance ;  yet  back  of  it  lies  at  least 
a  half  truth. 

Make  sure,  then,  that  your  firm  resolve  and  persistent 
effort  are  carrying  you  toward  a  fixed  guiding  star, 
not  toward  a  will-o'-the-wisp.  Make  sure  that  it  is  true 
firmness  of  will,  not  mere  obstinacy,  that  holds  you  to 
your  course.  For  rest  assured  there  is  no  more  monu- 
mental exponent  of  unity  of  purpose  than  the  fanatic 
who  is  the  victim  of  one  fixed  idea.  His  persistency 
may  lead  him  to  sheer  insanity — to  an  asylum  or  prison 
— yet  it  differs  in  no  regard  from  the  commendable 
stabihty  of  purpose  which  I  have  all  along  enjoined, 
except  in  the  one  vital  essential  that  it  will  not  bear  the 
scrutiny  of  common  sense.  Ample  tests  were  at  hand 
to  prove  that  the  fanatic  fixed  his  eyes  on  a  mirage,  not 
on  an  actual  goal ;  but  it  was  a  measure  of  his  fanaticism 
that  he  could  not  accept  the  tests. 

At  the  risk  of  a  seeming  anti-climax,  then,  I  will  re- 
peat, "  Be  brave.  Be  brave.  Be  brave ;  Be  not  too  brave." 
Temper  your  enthusiasm  with  caution.  Let  self-con- 
fidence be  based  on  true  self-knowledge.     Cultivate 

[143] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

firmness  of  will  as  distinguished  from  mere  obstinacy. 
''Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star" — but  not  to  an  ignis 
fatuus.  And  though  your  life  journey  may  not  have 
led  you  to  the  heights,  yet  it  may  have  passed  along  many 
a  pleasant  by-path,  showing  you,  perchance,  farther 
ghmpses  into  the  realm  of  happiness  than  are  usually 
granted  more  ambitious  travelers. 


[144] 


Part   III 


SOCIAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE  PROBLEM 
OF  HAPPINESS 


I 


"  So  live  with  your  inferior  as  you  would  wish  your  superior 
to  live  with  you."  — Seneca. 


chapter    IX 

HOW  TO  WORK 

"Deliberate  with  caution,  but  act  with  decision;    and 
yield  with  graciousness,  or  oppose  with  firmness." 

— Colton. 


"  The  manly  part  is  to  do  with  might  and  main  what  you 
can  do."  -Emerson. 


IX 

HOW  TO  WORK 

TO-DAY  is  always  with  us,  and  it  is  proverbial 
that  to-morrow  never  comes.  The  present 
hour  alone  is  our  sure  possession.  Yester- 
day is  dead  and  gone  forever;  to-morrow  is  yet  in  em- 
bryo.   The  present  tense  alone  expresses  reality. 

The  workers  of  every  age  have  realized  these  elemen- 
tal truths.  The  phrase-makers  of  every  language  have 
embalmed  them  in  telling  words.  By  universal  consent, 
the  all-important  time  is  Now.  Yet  this  truism,  like 
many  another  equally  obvious  one,  is  exceedingly  hard 
to  act  upon.  Contemplative  minds  are  ever  prone  to 
builds  their  plans  to-day,  but  to  put  off  action  till  that 
ever-elusive  morrow.  Meanwhile  the  arch-thief  Pro- 
crastination steals  the  years;  and  the  visionary  who 
lacks  nothing  but  the  initial  energy  to  start,  finds  him- 
self a  middle-aged  and  then  an  old  man,  with  his 
work  not  accomplished,  perhaps  not  even  begun. 

For  it  is  Father  Time's  paradoxical  jest  that  though 
to-morrow  never  comes,  yet  still  the  years  roll  swiftly  on. 
No  skill  can  retard  their  flowing;  no  power  can  recover 
so  much  as  one  unit  hour.  No  genius  can  utilize  any 
moment  but  the  present  one.  To  postpone  is  not  to 
accomplish. 

Cousin-german  to  the  procrastinator,  in  point  of  un- 
productiveness, is  the  man  who  is  forever  regretting 
the  past.     For  to  "cry  over  spilled  milk"  is  no  less 

[  149] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

proverbially  futile  a  performance  than  to  wait  on  the 
future.  Whatever  your  mistake  of  yesterday,  you  can 
never  undo  it.  Let  it  teach  you  a  lesson  for  to-day; 
beyond  that  you  can  serve  no  useful  purpose  by  dwell- 
ing on  it  regretfully.  Resolve  that  you  will  not  make 
the  same  mistake  twice ;  and  begin  Now  to  go  ahead 
in  the  path  that  your  present  judgment  indicates  as  the 
best  one. 

Conceding,  then,  that  to-day  and  not  to-morrow  is  our 
work-time,  what  hours  of  to-day  shall  be  set  aside  for  our 
task  ?  Shall  we  work  early  and  late,  or  only  a  few  hours  ? 
And  in  the  latter  case,  shall  our  work-hours  be  those 
of  the  early  morning  or  those  of  the  night  ? 

In  putting  that  question,  I  am  assuming,  quite  ob- 
viously, that  your  task  is  one  that  permits  you  to  elect 
the  time  of  its  attempted  accomplishment, — the  task, 
let  us  say,  of  the  artist,  the  writer,  the  musician,  the 
striver  after  artistic  success  in  almost  any  line;  for  of 
course  the  routine  tasks  of  the  ordinary  trade  or  pro- 
fession must  be  undertaken  in  the  hours  prescribed  by 
convention.  Assuming  that  choice  is  open  to  you, 
what  hours  may  you  best  select  ? 

The  question  is  one,  perhaps,  that  does  not  admit 
of  categorical  answer,  so  great  is  the  diversity  of  custom 
among  successful  workers.  A  good  many  literary 
workers  are  erratic  in  this  regard,  turning  night  into  day, 
and  working  only  after  most  other  people  are  in  bed. 
At  this  time,  they  say,  they  are  undisturbed  by  obtru- 
sive sounds.  Some  writers  are  peculiarly  susceptible 
to  disturbing  influences,  and  think  themselves  unable  to 

[15°] 


HOW  TO  WORK 

concentrate  their  minds  when  there  is  the  slightest 
commotion  about  them.  PHny  the  younger  tells  us 
that  he  formulated  his  thoughts  in  a  perfectly  dark 
room,  far  removed  from  any  noise.  Darkness  and  per- 
fect silence  enabled  him,  he  believed,  to  arrange  his 
ideas  to  best  advantage;  after  which  he  called  his 
amanuensis  and  dictated  what  he  had  composed. 

Pliny,  to  be  sure,  worked  very  early  in  the  morning, 
rather  than  at  night,  but  in  this  regard  most  moderns 
do  not  care  to  emulate  him.  Yet  there  can  be  little 
doubt  that  the  brain  is  in  best  condition  for  clear, 
vigorous  thinking  soon  after  it  comes  out  of  the  restful 
period  of  slumber.  For  work  that  requires  sustained 
logicality  of  thought,  I  beheve  there  can  be  no  question 
that  the  morning  hours  are  better  than  the  late  night 
hours.  On  the  other  hand  there  is  equally  little  ques- 
tion that  the  mind  tends  to  become  emotionally  more 
susceptible  at  night,  and  it  is  possible  that  some  kinds  of 
fiction- writing  may  be  better  done  then.  But  on  the 
whole  I  doubt  whether  the  time  of  working  has  any 
great  effect  in  one  way  or  another.  It  is  remarkable 
how  consistently  the  brain  maintains  a  certain  level  of 
productivity,  regardless  of  conditions. 

In  a  word,  I  believe  that  the  alleged  necessity  for  dark- 
ness, silence,  and  the  other  pampering  conditions  that 
so  many  workers  think  they  require,  is  for  the  most  part 
a  fiction  that  they  have  allowed  themselves  to  im- 
pose upon  their  own  minds.  A  trained  mind  should  be 
able  to  withdraw  within  itself,  as  it  were,  and  become 
virtually  oblivious  to  its  surroundings.  It  is  said  that 
Horace  Greeley  could  write  an  editorial  in  the  midst  of 

[151] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

the  roar  of  a  political  convention,  or  seated  on  a  Broad- 
way curbstone,  should  occasion  demand  it,  as  readily 
as  in  his  office.  I  suspect  that  most  people  could  learn 
to  be  equally  independent  of  their  surroundings  if  only 
they  would  train  themselves  in  the  right  direction.  In- 
deed, I  know  some  writers  who  find  the  roar  of  a  city 
more  favorable  to  mental  effort  than  the  silence  of  the 
country;  the  noise  about  them  seems  to  wall  them  in 
and  protect  them,  if  not  indeed  actually  to  stimulate 
their  mental  processes. 

The  obvious  moral  is  that  you  should  cultivate  the 
capacity  to  adapt  yourself  to  your  task  and  your  time. 
You  can  probably  learn  to  work  in  town  or  in  country, 
by  day  or  by  night.  Do  not  let  yourself  be  put  off  with 
the  illusive  excuse — which  lazy  minds  so  often  put  for- 
ward— that  you  would  do  better  elsewhere  or  under 
more  pampering  conditions.  Even  ill  health  could  not 
curtail  the  work  of  a  Darwin,  a  George  Eliot,  an  Eliza- 
beth Barrett  Browning,  a  Herbert  Spencer.  It  is  only 
half-genius,  as  Hamerton  says,  that  is  always  waiting 
for  its  inspiration.  The  true  worker  puts  his  shoulder 
to  the  wheel  wherever  he  finds  it.  He  waits  for  no  in- 
spiration ;  defers  not  for  favorable  time  or  place ;  but 
seizes  on  the  present  moment, — and  has  finished  his 
task  before  the  procrastinator  would  have  begun. 

But  though  you  should  thus  prove  yourself  master  of 
unfavorable  surroundings  on  occasion,  it  by  no  means 
follows  that  you  should  be  utterly  careless  of  your  en- 
vironment, if  a  choice  is  open  to  you.  It  would  be 
sheer  folly  to  deny  that  environment  counts  for  much  in 

[152] 


HOW  TO  WORK 

accomplishing  any  important  work, — using  the  word 
environment  now  in  its  broadest  sense.  Man  is  in- 
stinctively a  gregarious,  a  social  animal.  Compara- 
tively little  work  of  value  in  any  field  has  been  accom- 
plished by  anyone  leading  the  life  of  a  recluse.  And 
the  briefest  study  of  biography  will  convince  you  that 
genius  is  seldom  altogether  isolated  from  genius. 

Consider  in  this  regard  the  producers  of  the  great  art 
and  literature  and  science  of  any  age ;  note  how  they  tend 
to  form  "schools,"  to  cluster  about  certain  geographi- 
cal centres,  to  glorify  brief  epochs.  Thus  the  three  great 
tragedians  of  Greece,  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Eurip- 
ides, were  all  residents  of  Athens  in  the  same  generation ; 
so  were  the  three  great  historians,  Herodotus,  Thucyd- 
ides,  and  Xenophon.  Of  the  philosophers,  Plato  was 
the  disciple  of  Socrates  and  Aristotle  the  disciple  of 
Plato.  Roman  literature  produced  in  one  epoch  Vir- 
gil, Horace,  Ovid,  Lucretius,  Cicero,  Caesar,  and  Livy; 
and  in  another  epoch  Seneca,  the  two  Plinys,  and  Taci- 
tus. The  awakening  of  Italian  literature  gave  the  world 
in  rapid  succession  the  works  of  Dante,  of  Petrarch, 
and  of  Boccaccio;  the  awakening  of  art  was  attested 
by  Cimabue  and  Giotto,  while  its  full  development  was 
marked  by  that  triumvirate  of  Florentine  masters, 
Leonardo,  Michelangelo,  and  Raphael. 

Modern  examples  of  the  same  stimulative  influence  of 
genius  upon  genius  will  at  once  suggest  themselves  to 
every  reader.  Cases  in  point,  taken  quite  at  random,  are 
the  group  of  Elizabethan  dramatists,  with  Shakespeare 
and  Jonson  at  its  head;  the  Lake  School  of  poets,  in- 
cluding Coleridge  and  Wordsworth;    the  mutual  in- 

[153] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

fluence  of  Scott,  Byron,  and  Moore,  of  Goethe  and 
Schiller,  of  our  own  Emerson,  Hawthorne,  and  Thoreau. 

Even  in  the  case  of  these  men  of  supreme  genius,  the 
influence  of  contact  with  kindred  minds  was  notable, 
demonstrable.  How  much  greater,  then,  must  be  the 
need  of  such  stimulus  to  lesser  minds.  In  fields  of 
work  requiring  patient  research  rather  than  brilliant 
insight,  this  is  particularly  notable.  Gibbon's  Decline 
and  Fall  0}  the  Roman  Empire,  perhaps  the  greatest 
historical  work  in  any  language,  would  probably  never 
have  been  produced  but  for  the  stimulus  given  to  his- 
torical investigation  in  England  in  Gibbon's  early  man- 
hood bv  the  writings  of  Hume  and  Robertson.  George 
Grote's  History  of  Greece,  second  only  to  the  work  of 
Gibbon  among  historical  compositions  in  the  English 
language,  was  produced  almost  as  a  direct  answer  to  the 
History  of  Mitford.  And  in  the  field  of  the  natural 
sciences,  the  effect  of  propinquity,  of  mutual  influence, 
is  so  striking,  that  Galton  names  it  is  as  almost  an  essen- 
tial prerequisite  to  the  full  development  of  scientific 
genius. 

By  all  means,  then,  put  yourself  in  touch  with  other 
workers  of  allied  interests  and  aspirations  if  you  can. 
From  them  you  will  draw  an  inspiration  that  you  can 
scarcely  gain  from  any  other  source.  And  by  them 
you  can  measure  yourself  as  you  can  in  no  other  way. 

Not  the  least  valuable  lesson  of  such  association  with 
superior  minds  will  be,  perhaps,  the  object  lesson  you 
will  receive  in  the  value  of  sedulous  application.  By 
association  with  men  of  accomplishment,  you  will  soon 

[154] 


HOW  TO   WORK 

learn  that  not  even  the  highest  talent  can  free  itself 
from  the  thraldom  of  labor.  Everywhere  the  history 
of  achievement  repeats  that  lesson. 

De  Maupassant,  for  example,  has  told  us  of  his  con- 
viction that  such  effort  as  he  gave  to  the  attainment  of 
literary  skill  would  have  assured  success  in  any  field. 
Everyone  knows  how  he  served  apprenticeship  year 
after  year  under  his  master  Flaubert  before  his  work 
was  thought  worthy  of  publication.  Stevenson's  fin- 
ished product  was  produced  with  infinite  toil,  if  we  may 
accept  his  own  statements. 

These  were  cases  where  success  came  not  through  in- 
herent brilliancy  of  faculty,  but  through  inherent  stabil- 
ity of  will.  But  we  may  hear  the  same  story  regarding 
men  of  the  most  briUiant  natural  endowment.  Thus 
Macaulay,  who  wrote  a  universal  history  when  eight 
years  old,  used  to  work  for  weeks  on  a  single  review 
article  when  in  his  prime.  Sir  Rowan  Hamilton  was  a 
veritable  marvel  of  precocity  as  a  child,  yet  he  devoted 
the  major  part  of  his  life  to  the  development  of  the 
system  of  quaternions  on  which  his  fame  rests.  Darwin 
gave  twenty  years  of  assiduous  investigation  to  his  theory 
of  evolution  before  announcing  it  to  the  world. 

And  nearly  all  the  masters  of  the  elder  day  were 
prodigies  of  industry.  Michelangelo  painted  the 
entire  ceiling  of  the  Sistine  Chapel  with  his  own 
hands, — he  himself  having  in  the  first  place  constructed 
a  wonderful  scaffolding  on  which  to  stand.  Leonardo 
was  "zealous  in  labor  above  all  men"  as  his  multiform 
accomplishments  in  diversified  fields  amply  testify. 
Erasmus  contracted  in  early  life  habits  of  application 

[155] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

which  clung  to  him  so  persistently  that  even  in  his 
journeys  he  could  not  be  idle.  He  composed  his  cele- 
brated "Praise  of  Folly"  in  a  journey  from  Italy  to 
England,  pursuing  his  theme  as  he  rode  and  committing 
his  thoughts  to  writing  each  night. 

Adrian  Turnebus,  the  illustrious  French  critic,  was  so 
industrious  that  "it  was  remarked  of  him,  as  it  was  also 
of  Budeeus,  that  he  spent  some  hours  in  study  even  on 
the  day  he  was  married."  Grotius,  thrown  into 
prison,  only  redoubled  his  efforts,  and  when  he  would  un- 
bend simply  turned  from  one  work  to  another.  For 
recreation  he  translated  the  PhenisscB  of  Euripides, 
turned  his  own  famous  Institutions  of  the  Laws  0}  Hol- 
land into  Dutch,  composed  "Instructions"  for  his 
daughter  in  the  form  of  a  catechism,  and  the  like. 

When  Philip  of  Macedon  sneeringly  asked  Dionysius, 
Tyrant  of  Syracuse,  how  his  father  found  time  to  com- 
pose his  odes  and  tragedies,  the  reply  was:  "He  com- 
posed them  in  those  hours  which  you  and  I  consume  in 
drinking  and  play."  That  other  Sicilian,  Diodorus, 
spent  thirty  years  in  Rome  collecting  materials  for  his 
history,  besides  travelling  through  the  greater  part  of  the 
provinces  of  the  known  world.  Yet  that  was  when, 
as  it  now  seems,  the  world  was  young;  certainly  the 
materials  for  history  that  were  then  extant  were  scanty 
indeed  compared  with  those  of  the  present  day. 

A  chronicler  of  a  later  day,  Gilbert  Burnet,  author  of 
the  celebrated  History  0}  His  Oivn  Time,  was  obliged 
by  his  father  to  arise  at  four  every  morning  to  begin  his 
studies  during  his  youth;  and  the  habit  thus  thrust  upon 
him  became  second  nature,  and  was  retained  through- 

[156] 


HOW  TO   WORK 

out  the  best  years  of  his  life.  It  was  by  similar  util- 
ization of  the  early  morning  hours  that  Bunsen  found 
time  to  write  his  Meaning  and  Influence  of  Egyptian 
History  amidst  the  engrossing  preoccupations  of  an 
ambassador  at  the  court  of  England. 

Dionysius  Laertius  tells  us  that  Aristotle  slept  with 
a  brass  ball  in  his  hand,  which,  by  falling  into  a  basin 
of  water  awakened  him  that  he  might  resume  his 
studies.  The  story  is  perhaps  apocryphal,  but  it 
serves  to  illustrate  the  reputation  for  unwearied  in- 
dustry that  Aristotle  held  in  antiquity;  a  reputation 
that  accounts,  in  part  at  least,  for  the  fact  that  the 
Stagyrite's  works  have  come  down  to  us  in  greater 
volume  than  those  of  almost  any  other  Greek  writer; 
having  given  their  author,  meantime,  for  a  thousand 
years,  such  an  ascendency  over  the  scholarly  world  as 
few  other  men  ever  attained. 

The  Aristotle  of  the  Roman  world,  and  the  only  an- 
cient who  could  challenge  the  supremacy  of  the  great 
Greek  in  the  field  of  natural  history,  was  the  elder  Pliny. 
An  authentic  account  of  the  habits  of  work  of  this 
remarkable  man  has  been  left  by  his  nephew,  Pliny  the 
younger.  So  vividly  does  it  illustrate  the  power  of 
application,  that  a  transcript  of  it  is  worth  presenting 
at  length. 

It  appears  that  in  summer  the  elder  Pliny  "always 
began  his  studies  as  soon  as  it  was  night:  in  winter 
generally  at  one  in  the  morning,  but  never  later  than 
two  and  often  at  midnight.  No  man  ever  spent  less 
time  in  bed ;  insomuch  that  he  would  sometimes,  with- 
out retiring  from  his  books,  take  a  short  sleep  and  then 

[157] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

pursue  his  studies.  Before  daybreak  he  used  to  wait 
upon  Vespasian,  who  Hkewise  chose  that  season  to 
transact  business ;  and  when  he  had  finished  the  affairs 
which  that  emperor  committed  to  his  charge,  he  would 
return  home  again  to  his  studies.  After  a  slender  repast 
at  noon,  he  would  frequently  in  the  summer,  if  he  was 
disengaged  from  business,  repose  himself  in  the  sun; 
during  which  time  some  author  was  read  to  him  from 
whom  he  made  extracts  and  observations.  This  was 
his  constant  method,  whatever  book  he  read ;  for  it  was 
a  maxim  of  his,  that  no  book  was  so  bad,  but  some- 
thing might  be  learned  from  it. 

"When  this  was  over  he  generally  went  into  the  cold 
bath,  after  which  he  took  a  slight  refreshment  of  food 
and  rest;  and  then,  as  if  it  had  been  a  new  day,  re- 
sumed his  studies  till  supper  time,  when  a  book  was 
again  read  to  him,  upon  which  he  would  make  some  re- 
marks as  they  went  on.  His  nephew  mentions  a  singu- 
lar instance  to  show  how  covetous  he  was  of  his  time, 
and  how  greedy  of  knowledge.  His  reader  having  pro- 
nounced a  word  wrong,  somebody  at  the  table  made  him 
repeat  it;  upon  which  Pliny  asked  his  friend  if  he  un- 
derstood it?  who  acknowledging  that  he  did;  'Why 
then,'  said  he,  'would  you  make  him  go  back  again? 
We  have  lost  by  this  interruption  above  ten  lines.' 
In  summer  he  always  rose  from  supper  by  daylight; 
and  in  winter  as  soon  as  it  was  dark. 

"Such  was  his  way  of  Hfe  amidst  the  noise  and  hurry 
of  the  town ;  but  in  the  country  his  whole  time  was  de- 
voted to  study  without  intermission,  excepting  only  when 
he  bathed;   and  this,  no  longer  than  while  he  was  ac- 

[158] 


HOW  TO  WORK 

tually  in  the  bath,  for  while  he  was  being  rubbed  and 
wiped,  he  was  employed  either  in  hearing  some  book 
read  to  him,  or  in  dictating  himself.  In  his  journeys 
he  lost  no  time  from  his  studies;  but  his  mind  at  those 
seasons  being  disengaged  from  all  other  thoughts,  ap- 
plied itself  wholly  to  that  single  pursuit.  A  secretary 
constantly  attended  him  in  his  chariot,  who  in  the 
winter  wore  a  particular  sort  of  warm  gloves  that  the 
sharpness  of  the  weather  might  not  occasion  any  in- 
terruption to  his  studies." 

Such  application  as  this,  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 
prove,  would  triumph  against  almost  any  obstacle. 
Pliny,  indeed,  had  no  obstacles  placed  in  his  path,  so  far 
as  we  are  aware.  He  pursued  the  bent  of  his  native 
talent.  But  cases  are  not  wanting  in  which  men  have 
achieved  fame  in  fields  which  nature  seemed  to  have 
forbidden  them  to  traverse.  The  case  of  Demosthenes 
is  so  characteristic  in  this  regard  that  it  will  bear  exposit- 
ing  notwithstanding  its  familiarity.  We  are  assured  that 
this  greatest  of  all  orators  of  antiquity — if  not  indeed  of 
all  time — had  originally  ''a  weak  voice,  a  short  breath, 
and  a  very  uncouth  and  ungracious  manner.  By  dint  of 
resolution  and  infinite  pains,  he  overcame  all  these  de- 
fects. He  would  climb  up  steep  and  craggy  places  to 
help  his  wind  and  strengthen  his  voice ;  he  would  de- 
claim with  pebbles  in  his  mouth  to  remedy  the  defect  in 
his  speech;  he  would  place  a  looking-glass  before  him  to 
correct  the  awkwardness  of  his  gesture ;  and  he  learned 
of  the  best  players  the  proper  graces  of  action  and  pro- 
nunciation.    He  was  so  intent  upon  his  study  that  he 

[159] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

would  often  retire  into  a  cave  of  the  earth,  and  shave  half 
of  his  head  so  that  he  could  not  with  decency  appear 
abroad  till  his  hair  was  grown  again.  He  also  accus- 
tomed himself  to  harangue  at  the  seashore,  where  the 
agitation  of  the  waves  formed  to  him  an  idea  of  the  com- 
motions in  a  popular  assembly,  and  served  to  prepare 
and  fortify  him  against  them.  From  these  several  kinds 
of  hardship  which  he  imposed  upon  himself,"  concludes 
his  biographer,  "it  is  plain  that  he  was  not  so  much  born 
an  orator,  but  is  rather  an  instance,  how  far  parts  and 
application  may  go  toward  the  forming  a  great  man  in 
any  profession." 

Another  application  of  this  truth  is  furnished  by  the 
experience  of  Edmund  Stone,  the  eminent  mathema- 
tician. "  He  was  a  native  of  Scotland,  and  son  to  a  gar- 
dener in  the  service  of  the  duke  of  Argyle.  The  in- 
structions he  received  amounted  to  no  more  than  being 
taught  to  read  by  a  servant  of  the  duke's.  'I  first 
learned  to  read,'  said  Stone.  'The  masons  were  then 
at  work  upon  your  house.  I  went  near  them  one  day 
and  I  saw  that  the  architect  used  a  rule  and  compasses, 
and  that  he  made  calculations.  I  inquired  what  might 
be  the  use  of  these  things,  and  I  was  informed  that  there 
was  a  science  called  arithmetic.  I  purchased  a  book 
of  arithmetic,  and  I  learned  it.  I  was  told  that  there  was 
another  science  called  geometry.  I  bought  the  books 
and  I  learned  geometry.  By  reading  I  found  that 
there  were  good  books  in  these  two  sciences  in  Latin. 
I  bought  a  dictionary,  and  I  learned  Latin.  I  under- 
stood that  there  were  good  books  of  the  same  kind  in 

[i6o] 


HOW  TO   WORK 

French.  I  bought  a  dictionary,  and  I  learned  French. 
And  this,  my  lord,  is  what  I  have  done,'  concludes  the 
narrator  simply.  'It  seems  to  me  that  we  may  learn 
everything  when  we  know  the  twenty-six  letters  of  the 
alphabet. 


J  J) 


Such  anecdotal  illustrations  of  the  power  of  applica- 
tion might  be  added  to  indefinitely,  but  it  is  perhaps 
needless  to  extend  the  list.  It  is  scarcely  too  much  to 
say  that  the  history  of  every  great  man  reiterates,  in 
some  measure,  the  same  story.  Opinions  may  differ 
as  to  the  share  played  by  such  habits  of  application  in 
attaining  success  in  the  case  of  any  individual  man  of 
undoubted  genius.  A  Leonardo,  and  a  Michelangelo, 
for  example,  have  such  powers  of  mind  that  even  a 
comparatively  slight  effort  must  raise  them  above  the 
level  of  their  fellow^s, — albeit  not  to  the  towering  height 
they  actually  attain.  But  I  am  not  so  sure  that  Aristotle 
and  Pliny  were  men  of  genius  in  the  same  sense.  They 
were  men  of  comprehensive,  talented  minds,  of  course; 
but  they  plodded  into  the  citadel  of  genius  through  the 
gateway  of  toil ;  they  did  not  soar  in  on  the  wings  of  in- 
spiration. Acquired  habits  of  application  did  for 
them  what  inherent  brilliancy  did  for  the  few  favored 
others.  It  is  such  examples  that  have  led  to  the  familiar 
— even  if  not  all-sufficient — definition  of  genius  as 
"Capacity  to  work,  or  to  take  pains." 

The  moral  of  such  fives  is:   Make  yourself  a  master 
in  one  line,  "Know  something  about  everything,  but 
everything  about  something."     That  is  what  these  men 
did.     That  is  the  object  of  such  application. 
II  [i6i] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

But  can  such  habits  of  application  be  acquired  by 
everyone?  Possibly  not;  yet  after  all  it  is  marvellous 
how  quickly  a  habit  may  be  taken  on,  and  yet  more  mar- 
vellous how  persistent  it  tends  to  become  once  it  is 
thoroughly  acquired.  Indeed,  the  well-formed  habit 
comes  finally  not  only  to  aid  the  will  in  its  original  pur- 
pose, but  actually  to  dominate  the  will  and  keep  it  loyal 
to  that  purpose.  A  practical  illustration  of  this  is  shown 
in  the  familiar  case  of  persons  who  start  out  in  early 
life  to  acquire  a  fortune,  thinking  then  to  turn  from  the 
lines  of  trade  and  enjoy  the  benefits  of  their  early 
frugality.  Habits  of  self-denial  and  saving  come  hard 
at  first;  but  at  last  they  are  "second  nature,"  and  when 
at  last  the  original  goal  is  reached  and  judgment  would 
say,  "Now  turn  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  your  labor," 
Habit  says,  "No;  we  will  go  on  as  we  have  begun." 
The  mad  lust  for  more  money  and  yet  more,  now  no 
longer  purposeful,  grows  and  persists  while  the  in- 
dividual lives. 

Similarly,  in  quite  different  fields,  the  same  thing 
holds.  Darwin  himself  assures  us,  for  example,  that 
his  years  of  application  to  scientific  ideas  rendered  him 
insusceptible  to  any  other  theme;  he  could  no  longer 
appreciate  art  or  music.  His  mind  had  become  a 
mechanism  solely  for  the  elaboration  of  scientific  ideas. 

This  inabilitv  to  shake  off  a  habit  that  at  first  was  hard 
to  acquire  suggests  the  advantages  of  fixing  the  goal  in 
early  life  where  one  expects  it  to  remain.  The  youth 
is  fortunate  who,  finding  at  the  outset  of  his  career  a 
congenial  trade  or  profession,  can  say  "this  is  for  Hfe" 
and  hold  to  his  purpose.     Good  habits  of  work  will 

[162] 


HOW  TO   WORK 

come,  aiding  the  will.  Interest  will  grow  as  the  horizon 
widens,  insuring  vivid  presentation.  This  in  turn  in- 
sures vivid  recollection;  and  wide  association  of  ideas 
follows  as  the  natural  sequel  of  these  two.  Thus 
each  faculty  aids  and  stimulates  all  the  rest.  A  har- 
monious mental  coalition  is  formed  and  strengthened. 
The  fortunate  individual  develops  abihty  that  he  little 
dreamed  of  in  the  beginning.  He  may  even  scale  the 
heights  of  genius  when  earlier  prognostications  would 
have  doomed  him  to  a  life  of  mediocrity. 

Considering  how  volitional  power  may  be  developed, 
and  seeing  what  may  be  accomplished  by  stability  of 
will,  one  may  almost  feel  that  every  normal  mind  has 
such  potentialities  of  genius.  Certainly  you  need  not 
despair  because  you  lack  brilliancy  of  receptiveness. 
Rather  fix  your  eye  all  the  more  doggedly  on  the  distant 
goal.  Resolve  that  even  if  nature  has  made  you  a 
tortoise  rather  than  a  hare,  you  will  none  the  less  strive 
to  demonstrate  unsuspected  ability,  by  winning  the 
race. 

And  rest  assured  there  are  few  greater  joys  than 
that  which  springs  from  difficulties  overcome.  To  have 
placed  a  single  day  of  efficient  work  behind  you  will 
tend  to  give  you  the  warm  glow  of  well-being;  to  have 
carried  to  accomplishment  a  task  requiring  months  or 
years  of  application  will  insure  you  satisfaction  inesti- 
mable.   Past  labors  are  proverbially  pleasant. 


[163I 


"Do  nothing  for  ostentation,  but  all  for  conscience. 
Seek  the  reward  of  virtue  in  itself,  and  not  in  the  praise 
of  men."  — Pliny  the  Younger. 


chapter    X 

YOUTH  VERSUS  AGE 

"Happy  is  he  that  has  well  employed  his  time,  however 
short  it  may  have  been."  — Seneca. 


"A  man  that  is  young  in  years  may  be  old  in  hours,  if  he 
has  lost  no  time,— but  that  happeneth  rarely." 

— Francis  Bacon. 


X 


YOUTH  VERSUS  AGE 

SUPPOSE,  however,  that  a  man  has  striven  ear- 
nestly and  well  according  to  the  best  of  his  op- 
portunities and  abilities,  yet  that  he  has  failed, 
after  years  of  toil.  At  middle  life  he  reaHses  at  last  that 
he  made  a  mistake  in  even  trying  to  scale  the  heights  in 
the  direction  of  his  effort.  Must  he  then  write  "Fail- 
ure" for  all  time  over  the  portals  of  his  house  of  life? 
Is  it  too  late  to  make  amends  for  his  blunder;  too  late 
to  start  over? 

The  question  brings  us  face  to  face  with  the  world- 
old  and  ever  recurring  problem  of  Youth  versus  Age. 
It  is  a  problem  that  confronts  us  everywhere  in  every- 
day life,  and  which  enters  into  the  idiom  of  our  current 
speech.  We  are  forever  being  assured  that  this  man  is 
too  young  for  some  given  enterprise  or  effort,  and  that 
some  other  man  is  too  old.  Moreover  our  laws  re- 
flect the  complexion  of  every-day  speech ;  they  declare 
every  individual  unfit  for  the  duties  and  privileges  of 
citizenship  until  he  is  twenty-one;  they  specify  that  no 
man  may  be  named  President  before  he  has  attained  the 
age  of  thirty-five;  and  they  fix  the  retiring  age  for 
officers  of  the  army  and  navy  at  sixty-five. 

At  first  blush  this  perpetual  contrasting  of  youth  and 
age  seems  like  an  effort  to  establish  barriers  and  con- 
trasts where  no  such  lines  of  demarcation  are  drawn  in 
nature;   somewhat  as  the  perennial  contrasting  of  the 

[167] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

feminine  with  the  mascuHne  mind  seems  to  imply  a 
disregard  of  the  eternal  harmonies.  But  the  biologist 
assures  us  that  the  contrasting  is  not  without  a  certain 
warrant,  in  one  case  as  in  the  other.  It  appears  that 
every  individual,  as  viewed  from  the  biological  stand- 
point, is  the  victim  of  that  law  of  atavism  which  decrees 
that  each  single  organism  shall  tend  to  reenact  in  its  own 
life-cycle  the  history  of  its  race.  Thus  the  child  ex- 
hibits many  reminiscent  traits  of  our  early  savage  an- 
cestors; the  young  man  has  the  enthusiastic  ambi- 
tions of  a  young  and  lusty  nation;  the  middle-aged 
man  should  have  the  sober  and  mature  judgment  of  a 
practical  nation  in  its  prime;  and  the  old  man  may  be 
expected  to  exhibit  the  decrepitude  of  a  degenerate 
nation  verging  toward  the  abysm. 

So  it  would  follow  that  to  the  man  in  middle  life, 
grown  worldly  wise,  not  to  say  blase,  the  ambitions  of 
youth  would  seem  to  belong  to  a  period  of  adolescent 
and  visionary  enthusiasm  and  to  partake  of  the  nature 
of  vanity  and  folly;  while  to  the  old  man,  basking  in 
reminiscence  and  beset  by  present  infirmity,  the  world 
will  seem  a  less  pleasant  place  than  it  was  in  days  of 
yore,  and  the  enthusiasms  of  the  new  generation  will 
appear  as  foolish  vagaries,  departing  absurdly  from  the 
wise  order  of  the  elder  day. 

And  true  enough  we  find  it,  in  any  generation,  that 
youth  is  contemptuous  of  age  and  age  intolerant  of 
youth;  somewhat — to  revert  to  our  atavistic  explana- 
tion— as  barbarian  and  man  of  culture,  brought  face  to 
face,  regard  each  other  with  mutual  mistrust,  contumely, 
and  lack  of  understanding. 

[i68] 


YOUTH  VERSUS   AGE 

Ev(fry  man  is  the  product  of  his  time,  and  the  world  is 
never  static.  Wherefore  it  follows  that  each  successive 
generation  must  differ  som.ewhat  in  the  atmosphere  of  its 
culture  from  every  other  generation.  The  attitude  of 
one  generation  toward  another  must  then  partake  in 
lesser  degree  of  the  attitude  of  one  nation  toward  an- 
other; an  attitude  expressed  by  the  word  alien.  No 
man  finds  himself  quite  at  home,  as  the  saying  is, 
among  foreigners ;  and  similarly  no  man  can  find  him- 
self quite  at  home  except  among  companions  of  his  own 
generation. 

FamiHar  illustrations  of  the  truth  of  this  last  ele- 
mentary proposition  may  be  found  at  once  on  examining 
the  various  companies  or  cliques  of  companionship 
among  the  individuals  of  your  own  community.  But 
the  principle,  to  be  of  universal  apphcation,  requires 
a  word  of  interpretation.  It  is  necessary  to  understand 
an  important  fact  which  is  often  overlooked;  the  fact, 
namely,  that  mere  age  in  years  is  not  the  necessary  and 
final  test  of  the  generation  to  which  any  given  individ- 
ual belongs.  The  phrase  "An  old  head  on  young 
shoulders"  has  its  connotations  in  fact;  so  too  are  there 
individuals  who  may  justly  be  said  to  be  seventy  or 
eighty  years  young.  . 

Generally,  but  not  always,  is  memory  so  fleeting 
that  the  later  years  bring  forgetfulness  of  the  thoughts 
and  aspirations  of  the  earlier  ones.  Generally,  but  not 
always,  are  the  earlier  years  marked  by  visionary  en- 
thusiasms and  immaturity  of  judgment.  Alexander 
by  his  o\\Ti  efforts  became  dictator  of  Greece  before  he 
was  twenty,  and  master  of  the  world  before  he  was 

[169] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

thirty.  Augustus  Caesar  ruled  half  the  known  world 
at  twenty-two,  and  all  of  it  a  bare  ten  years  later. 
Napoleon  at  thirty  had  behind  him  a  record  of  almost 
unexampled  conquests,  and  was  supreme  arbiter  of  the 
destinies  of  France,  if  not  indeed  of  all  Continental 
Europe. 

Such  men  as  these,  obviously,  are  not  to  be  judged 
by  their  mere  years.  But,  indeed,  as  just  suggested,  the 
year  is  scarcely  an  accurate  standard  of  measurement  for 
the  life  of  even  the  ordinary  man.  "A  man  that  is 
young  in  years,"  says  Bacon,  "may  be  old  in  hours." 
Here,  then,  we  have  a  more  rational  unit;  but  unfortu- 
nately one  that  could  not  well  be  applied  in  practice. 
We  cannot  well  analyse  the  hours  of  our  fellows,  to  deter- 
mine what  number  of  them  have  been  well  employed. 
For  practical  purposes,  the  clumsy  standard  of  years 
must  suffice.  Perhaps  on  the  whole  it  serves  well 
enough. 

Just  where  the  threshold  of  senility  should  lie,  in  the 
course  of  any  individual  life,  it  is  impossible  to  pre- 
dict with  precision,  so  much  depends  upon  complica- 
tions of  heredity  and  the  minor  complications  of  en- 
vironment. Somewhere  along  in  the  forties,  let  us  say, 
a  man  is  likely  to  begin  to  realise,  not  without  a  shock 
of  surprise  and  an  impulse  of  rebellion,  that  he  is  no 
longer  young.  He  is  not  yet  old,  surely;  is  scarcely 
at  middle  age ; — but  he  is  not  young.  His  hair  has  be- 
gun to  change  color  a  trifle;  his  figure  tends  to  enlarge 
a  little  about  the  waist-line — not  the  place  for  muscular 
development ;  and  he  half  suspects  that  he  has  not  quite 

[170] 


YOUTH   VERSUS  AGE 

the  initial  energy  on  the  one  hand  nor  the  physical  en- 
durance on  the  other  that  he  once  had.  Very  likely  some 
of  his  aforetime  ambitions  have  gone  the  way  of  his 
youth ;  and  if  he  will  hark  back  in  memory  to  the  ideas 
that  dominated  him  in  the  twenties,  he  may  feel  that 
in  many  ways  he  is  a  changed  personality.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  he  is  the  fortunate  exception  to  the  average  if  his 
ideas  on  all  subjects  that  interest  him  are  not  now 
fixed  beyond  probability  of  change — at  least  this  side 
senescence.  In  the  current  phrasing,  his  ''character" 
is  fully  formed. 

As  a  rule,  the  person  thus  come  to  "years  of  dis- 
cretion" takes  a  more  conservative  view  of  life  than  he 
did  twenty  years  before.  I  fear  that  he  has  generally 
lost  the  inclination  to  learn ; — but  I  certainly  should  not 
admit  that  he  has  lost  the  capacity.  He  is  not  very  likely 
now  to  take  up  any  new  study  requiring  diligent  appli- 
cation, nor  to  enter  on  any  entirely  new  Kne  of  business 
activity.  The  foundations  of  his  fortune  or  success 
are  in  all  probability  pretty  securely  laid,  if  fortune  or 
great  success  he  is  likely  ever  to  attain.  There  is  a 
business  rule  of  thumb  to  the  effect  that  a  man  who  has 
not  begun  to  accumulate  money  by  his  fortieth  birth- 
day will  never  be  rich.  No  doubt  as  applied  to  the 
average  man  there  is  much  truth  in  this  off-hand  maxim ; 
and  what  apphes  to  pecuniary  accumulation  ap- 
plies with  about  equal  force  to  success  in  general, — 
the  one  being,  indeed,  for  the  average  man,  the  tangible 
test  of  the  other. 

But  all  this,  it  must  be  observed,  is  very  far  from 
suggesting  that  the  man  who  has  passed  the  threshold 

[171] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

of  old  age  cannot  be  expected  to  perform  any  further 
useful  work; — though  this  interpretation  has  been  put 
upon  it  by  some  rash  critics.  It  requires  only  the 
briefest  turning  of  the  pages  of  a  biographical  dictionary 
to  dispel  any  such  illusion  as  that.  It  is  one  thing  to  say 
that  the  man  who  has  not  begun  to  show  promise  of 
success  by  middle  life  will  probably  never  attain  the 
heights;  it  is  quite  another  to  say  that  achievement 
must  have  reached  its  maximum  at  that  period.  To 
assert  the  latter,  would  be  to  fly  in  the  face  of  the  most 
patent  and  familiar  life-histories.  If  most  men  have 
laid  the  foundations  of  their  life-edifice  at  forty,  few 
indeed  have  completed  the  superstructure. 

But  even  as  regards  the  beginnings,  there  are  notable 
exceptions;  and  sweeping  generalisations,  based  on 
observation  of  the  average  man,  are  sure  to  run  amuck 
of  that  rule-breaker,  the  exceptional  man.  Whoever 
cares  to  compile  a  list  of  notable  achievements  accom- 
plished by  men  past  middle  age,  will  find  himself 
confronted  not  only  with  a  formidable  list  of  workers 
who  have  added  to  their  fame  or  fortune  in  later  years, 
but  also  with  a  not  inconsiderable  list  of  men  who 
entered  new  fields  after  middle  life,  and  attained  great 
distinction  in  these  new  fields. 

Julius  Caesar,  for  example,  second  to  none  among 
military  conquerors,  had  no  mihtary  reputation  till  he 
was  past  forty.  Oliver  Cromwell  was  an  untried  tyro  in 
military  art  when  he  entered  the  field  against  his  king 
at  forty-three.  Blake,  who  by  common  consent  must  be 
remembered  as  one  of  the  greatest  of  admirals,  was 
past  fifty  before  he  first  set  foot  on  a  war  ship.     Grant, 

[172] 


YOUTH   VERSUS  AGE 

who  won  what  Mommsen  described  as  "the  greatest 
conflict  and  most  glorious  victory  in  all  history,"  was 
following  with  small  success  the  business  of  a  tanner  at 
thirty-five, — though  of  course  it  must  be  recalled  that 
he  had  earlier  had  a  military  education.  Von  Moltke, 
planner  and  executor  of  the  most  brilliant  and  cataclys- 
mic campaigns  of  modern  times,  would  have  passed 
away  unknown  to  fame  had  he  died  at  seventy;  he 
first  found  his  opportunity  in  those  "doubtful  years" 
beyond  three  score  and  ten. 

In  all  these  cases,  it  will  be  observed,  it  was  the  pre- 
sentation of  new  opportunities,  due  to  external  condi- 
tions, that  gave  rise  to  the  new  lines  of  action  that  led  the 
actors  on  to  successful  achievement.  To  a  certain 
extent  the  same  thing  is  true  of  Columbus,  who  made 
his  memorable  voyage  at  fifty-six,  and  of  Magellan, 
who  traversed  the  strait  that  bears  his  name,  on  that 
first  daring  voyage  of  circumnavigation,  at  fifty.  Co- 
lumbus would  have  started  much  earlier  could  he  have 
found  the  means,  and  Magellan  would  not  have  started 
at  all  but  for  the  new  impulse  to  exploration  that  the 
discovery  of  the  New  World  had  developed.  But 
examples  are  not  lacking  of  men  whose  new  line  of  ac- 
tivity, entered  on  after  middle  life,  depended  entirely 
on  their  own  volition. 

Thus  John  Milton,  private  secretary  to  Oliver  Crom- 
well and  poUtical  polemist,  decided  at  forty-seven  to 
write  an  epic  poem;  and  ten  years  later  produced 
"  Paradise  Lost."  Richardson,  one  of  the  fathers  of  the 
English  novel,  first  turned  his  attention  to  fiction-writing 
after  he  was  fifty.     Scott  turned  rather  late  in  life  from 

[173] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

poetry  to  prose,  and  made  himself  instant  master  in  the 
new  field.  Adam  Smith,  professor  of  Moral  Philosophy, 
resigned  his  university  chair  and  turned  his  attention  to 
economic  questions,  and,  after  ten  years  of  study,  pro- 
duced, at  fifty-three,  under  title  of  The  Wealth  oj  Nations, 
the  work  that  founded  the  modern  science  of  Political 
Economy.  The  economic  system  which  Smith's  work 
supplemented  and  perfected  had  its  chief  exposition  in 
the  Tableau  economiqiie  which  Fran9ois  Qucsnay, 
the  French  professor  of  surgery  and  personal  physician 
to  Louis  XV.,  published  at  the  age  of  sixty-two,  and  to 
the  same  author's  La  physiocratie,  ou  constitution 
naturelle  du  gouvernement  le  plus  avantageux  aux 
peuples,  which  appeared  nine  years  later.  Similarly 
J.  J.  Rousseau's  Contrat  social,  ''the  bible  of  modern 
democracy,"  was  a  work  of  mature  manhood,  ap- 
pearing when  its  author  was  in  his  fiftieth  year. 

Faraday  was  past  middle  life  before  he  turned  his  at- 
tention to  electricity,  yet  his  experiments  in  this  field 
laid  the  foundation  of  the  modern  science  of  electro- 
dynamics. S.  F.  B.  Morse,  the  artist,  was  thirty- 
six  before  he  first  became  interested  in  electricity. 
He  was  forty-one  before  he  conceived  the  practicability 
of  the  electrical  telegraph,  and  past  fifty  before  he 
demonstrated  the  validity  of  his  idea.  James  Watt 
also  was  past  fifty  before  he  demonstrated  the  com- 
mercial value  of  his  improved  steam  engine.  Fulton 
was  past  forty  before  his  first  steam  boat  crept  along 
the  Hudson,  and  Stephenson  was  almost  fifty  when  the 
"Rocket"  made  him  famous;  but  both  these  inventors 
had   virtually   perfected   their  mechanisms  at   earlier 

[174] 


YOUTH  VERSUS   AGE 

periods.  None  the  less  would  they  have  failed  of  final 
success  had  their  perseverance  and  enthusiasm  flagged. 
Similar  perseverance  enabled  Harvey  at  fifty  to  demon- 
strate the  circulation  of  the  blood,  and  Jenner  at  forty- 
seven  to  show  the  preventive  power  of  vaccination  over 
small -pox. 

These  illustrations  from  practical  fields  may  be 
readily  paralleled  from  the  records  of  theoretical  workers. 
Thus  all  of  Aristotle's  works  that  have  come  down  to  us 
were  composed  after  he  was  fifty.  Copernicus  finished 
his  revolutionary  work  on  the  solar  system  at  fifty-seven. 
Bacon  published  the  Novum  Organum  at  fifty-nine, 
earning  thereby  the  title  of  the  "Father  of  Inductive 
Philosophy."  Isaac  Newton  was  forty-five  when  he 
completed  the  Principia,  the  work  which  made  his 
contemporaries  question  whether  he  were  a  mere 
mortal.  Kant  was  fifty- six  when  he  published  the 
first  edition  of  the  Critique  oj  Pure  Reason,  and  sixty- 
two  when  he  sent  forth  the  modified  edition  to  the 
further  bewilderment  of  legions  of  disciples  and  critics. 
Lavoisier  was  forty-six  when  he  revolutionized  the  ter- 
minology of  chemistry,  thereby  laying  the  foundations 
of  the  modern  science  of  that  name.  Dalton  was  forty- 
one  when  his  atomic  theory  gave  a  new  insight  into  the 
nature  of  matter.  Darwin  was  almost  fifty  when  his 
Origin  oj  Species  appeared,  to  change  the  entire  aspect 
of  nineteenth-century  thought. 

Such  illustrations  seem  to  give  ample  proof  that  the 
fifth  and  sixth  decades  may  find  men  still  in  their 
full  flight  of  productive  activitv.     Nor  need  we  pause 

[175]' 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

even  here.  Many  a  worker  has  been  able  to  defy  the 
onslaughts  of  time  still  more  effectively.  Each  of  the 
three  great  tragedians  of  Greece,  ^schylus,  Sophocles, 
and  Euripides,  continued  to  write  with  undiminished 
vigor  and  effectiveness  till  past  threescore  and  ten; 
and  Sophocles  produced  the  "(Edipus  Colonus," 
which  ranks  among  his  greatest  works,  when  he  was 
more  than  eighty.  Socrates  seems  to  have  been  taken 
off  in  his  mental  prime,  though  he  also  had  com- 
passed his  threescore  and  ten  years.  Plato  continued 
to  teach  in  his  famous  Academy  till  his  death  at  eighty 
and  the  comprehensive  "Republic,"  the  "Timaeus," 
and  the  unfinished  "Critias,"  are  believed  to  have 
been  composed  in  his  latest  years.  Herodotus  was 
probably  hard  upon  sixty  when  he  completed  his 
history.  Thucydides,  dying  at  seventy-five,  left  the 
history  of  the  Peloponnesian  Wars  unfinished.  Taci- 
tus, the  greatest  of  Roman  historians,  was  yet  another 
classical  writer  who  made  the  world  debtor  to  his 
seventh  decade. 

But  it  is  not  the  classical  world  alone  that  can  show 
its  lists  of  active  septuagenarians.  The  most  recent 
generations  can  hold  their  own,  in  this  regard,  with  the 
great  da)^s  of  the  past.  Goethe,  greatest  master  of  the 
Germanic  tongue,  finished  "Faust,"  his  master  work, 
on  the  eve  of  his  eighty-third  birthday.  Alexander  von 
Humboldt  wrote  Cosmos,  the  crowning  literary  prod- 
uct of  his  active  life,  during  his  last  seventeen  years, 
completing  it  in  his  ninety-third  year.  As  it  is  a  work 
summarizing  the  universal  knowledge  acquired  in  a 
life-time  of  study,  the  time  of  its  composition  was  most 

[176] 


YOUTH   VERSUS  AGE 

happily  chosen ;  though  the  uncertainty  of  that  eighth 
decade — not  to  mention  the  ninth — makes  the  experi- 
ment a  doubtful  example  to  attempt  to  follow. 

Other  tireless  workers  whose  prolonged  activities 
have  too  recently  terminated  to  have  been  forgotten 
by  any  reader  of  these  pages  are  Gladstone,  Bismarck, 
Von  Moltke,  Tennyson,  Herbert  Spencer,  and  Theo- 
dore Mommsen. 

Not  to  multiply  examples,  it  must  be  clear  that  a 
man  is  not  necessarily  a  fossil  in  mind  because  he  has 
reached  the  stage  of  life  when  his  bones  begin  to  show 
an  increased  deposit  of  earthy  matter.  Gray  hair 
is  not  of  necessity  associated  with  mental  waning. 

These  examples,  then,  virtually  supply  the  answer  to 
the  query  with  which  we  started.  It  seems  sufficiently 
demonstrated  that  there  is  nothing  inherent  in  the  na- 
ture of  the  human  organism  that  forbids  one  to  begin  a 
new  work  or  to  push  on  with  an  old  one  because  one's 
life  has  compassed  more  than  half  its  normal  limit. 
Surely  your  life  is  not  of  necessity  a  failure  because 
you  have  not  begun  to  achieve  success  at  forty, — pro- 
vided always  that  you  have  certain  exceptional  quali- 
ties of  persistency  and  courage;  and  the  proof  of  that 
must  be  found  in  the  deed. 

If  until  now  you  have  sought  after  false  ideals,  striven 
in  the  wrong  direction,  and  you  now  have  oppor- 
tunity to  start  out  aright,  you  should  now  be  able  to 
profit  by  your  mistakes.  Experience  should  have 
taught  you  something, — if  it  be  only  what  to  avoid. 
Equipped  with  maturer  judgment,  you  should  work  to 

12  [177] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

better  advantage  than  your  younger  rivals.  Your  ef- 
fort should  bring  you  more  directly  to  its  goal.  You 
should  accomplish  more  in  a  given  time  than  you  could 
have  done  at  twenty. 

Your  chiefest  danger,  however,  is  that  you  have  al- 
lowed your  ideas  to  become  fixed,  inflexible;  and  that 
you  have  lost  enthusiasm.  In  that  case,  you  will 
find  yourself  at  a  disadvantage,  and  you  cannot  hope 
to  compete  with  the  workers  of  the  younger  generation. 
Should  you  lose  that  philosopher's  stone  called  In- 
terest, you  will  soon  find  yourself  revolving  in  a  narrow 
circle,  learning  nothing  new,  forgetting  rather  than  ac- 
quiring. In  that  event  you  will  soon  be  outstripped  in 
the  race.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  you  do  make 
progress,  the  amount  of  that  progress — granted  reason- 
able natural  abilities — will  depend  in  no  small  measure 
upon  the  extent  to  which  you  keep  young  in  interest 
and  imagination;  receptive,  energetic, — in  a  word, 
fresh- vie  wed  or  open-minded. 

To  maintain  such  freshness,  then,  is  obviously  one  of 
the  most  desirable  ends  of  self-culture.  He  who 
achieves  that  end  will  solve  in  a  measure  for  himself 
the  old  problem  of  the  searchers  after  the  Elixir  of  Life. 
The  Spring  of  Eternal  Youth,  which  Ponce  de  Leon 
failed  to  find  in  his  long  journeyings,  you  will  have 
found  in  your  own  home,  wherever  that  may  chance 
to  be, — or,  to  be  accurate,  the  fountains  of  prolonged, 
if  not  of  eternal,  youthfulness. 

But  how  may  this  alchemistic  miracle  be  accom- 
plished ?    Of  a  truth,  not  without  heroic  effort.     Cease- 

[178] 


YOUTH  VERSUS   AGE 

lessly  you  must  guard  that  citadel  of  mind,  your  body, 
against  the  encroachment  of  vicious  habits  of  sensual 
indulgence; — against  overeating,  which  clogs  the  sys- 
tems with  useless  adipose;  against  the  drugs  that, 
in  excess  at  any  rate,  promote  the  destruction  of  use- 
ful tissues.  Ceaselessly  you  must  strive  by  active  ex- 
ercise to  keep  your  muscles  resilient,  responsive,  that 
your  circulation  may  be  free  and  active,  and  your  mind 
proportionately  eager  for  action,  instead  of  sluggish 
and  inert.  Ceaselessly  you  must  challenge  the  mind 
itself,  give  it  new  tasks,  demand  that  it  maintain  an  in- 
terest in  the  new  thoughts  of  each  successive  day  and 
week  and  year;  that  it  establish  new  habits,  adapt  itself 
to  new  conditions. 

Seneca  suggests — following  Pythagoras — that  at  the 
close  of  each  day  one  should  review  the  deeds  of  the  day, 
in  order  to  gain  new  wisdom  for  the  deeds  of  the  morrow. 
Similarly,  for  the  present  purpose,  you  might  wisely 
challenge  your  thoughts  of  the  day,  to  inquire  what 
you  know  to-night  that  you  did  not  know  this  morning. 
Extending  the  process,  you  might  well  sum  up  at  each 
week's  end  the  new  facts  or  new  points  of  view  that  the 
experiences  of  the  week  have  brought  you.  And  at  such 
recurring  anniversaries  as  the  New  Year,  your  birth- 
day, your  wedding-day,  and  the  like,  you  will  surely 
not  act  wisely  if  you  do  not  indulge  in  reminiscences  to 
the  extent  of  challenging  from  this  point  of  view  the 
developments  of  the  year  gone  by. 

Fear  not,  after  each  such  analysis,  to  hold  fast  to 
the  old  truth  that  still  seems  good;  but  take  yourself 
to  task  if  no  new  truth  has  made  itself  manifest  to  you 

[179] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

in  the  newest  cycle; — for  of  a  certainty  the  world  has 
not  stood  still. 

As  a  tangible  aid,  in  this  process  of  perpetual  self- 
rejuvenation,  it  is  well  to  keep  your  mind  burnished  by 
giving  it  very  definite  tasks  involving  the  necessity  of  new 
effort.  Take  up,  for  example,  the  acquisition  of  a 
new  language  from  time  to  time,  with  its  novel  gram- 
matical forms,  its  unfamiliar  vocabularies.  Giuseppe 
IMezzofanti,  the  celebrated  librarian  of  Bologna  Uni- 
versity and  of  the  Vatican,  is  said  to  have  known 
eighteen  languages  when  he  was  thirty-six,  and  fifty- 
eight  at  the  time  of  his  death, — speaking  and  writing 
them  all  with  great  facihty.  As  he  lived  to  be  seventy- 
three,  he  must  have  averaged  a  little  better  than  one 
language  a  year  for  each  of  the  last  forty  years  of  his  life. 

I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  the  man  of  average  linguis- 
tic talent  can  duplicate  such  a  record  as  that.  To  ac- 
complish such  feats,  qualities  of  brain  and  ear  are  re- 
quired which  must  be  inherent,  like  any  other  kind  of 
sheer  genius,  and  which  remove  their  possessor  from 
the  field  of  competition.  But  the  example  is  stimula- 
tive none  the  less.  If  Mezzofanti  could  acquire  forty 
languages  after  mid-age,  you  surely  can  learn  at  least  to 
read  five  or  six,  be  your  talent  ever  so  meagre.  And 
if  you  cannot  master  each  successive  one  a  little  more 
readily  than  the  last  (other  things  being  equal),  you  must 
feel  that  you  are  permitting  your  mind  to  deteriorate; 
you  are  losing  your  grip  on  the  secret  of  eternal  youth. 

If  perchance  the  study  of  languages  does  not  attract 
you,  take  up  some  other  fine  of  mental  action  that  will 
offer   similar   stimulus, — some   new   line   of   scientific 

[i8o] 


YOUTH  VERSUS  AGE 

thought  or  experiment,  some  fresh  field  of  literary  or 
philosophical  investigation.  Make  sure  that  it  is  some- 
thing that  involves  real  freshness  of  effort,  not  merely 
the  revamping  of  your  old  ideas.  The  less  zeal  you 
have  for  such  new  investigation,  the  more  you  need  to 
undertake  it.  Spur  your  mind  onward,  then,  till  it 
develops  eagerness  for  new  effort.  Shake  off  your  lassi- 
tude;  rouse  from  your  slumber.     Cry,  Forward! 

If  so  you  will  strive,  with  ever  fresh  resolve,  there  will 
be  for  you,  during  the  period  of  your  reasonable  working 
days,  no  such  problem — granted  average  immunity  from 
disease — as  that  of  Youth  versus  Age.  Like  those  other 
exceptional  and  favored  ones,  you  may  come  in  due 
course  to  be  fifty,  sixty,  seventy  years  young;  always 
progressing,  always  striving,  ever  tasting  the  joys  of 
accomplishment.  Die  you  must  some  day,  as  all  the 
other  searchers  after  the  Philosopher's  Stone  have  died 
in  their  turn.  Grow  decrepit  you  must,  in  the  normal 
course  of  events;  but  your  efforts  may  in  effect  prolong 
your  life,  by  warding  off  the  evils  of  a  premature  senility. 
Old,  in  the  opprobrious  sense  of  the  word,  you  need 
never  be. 


[i8i] 


"The  measure  of  a  man's  life  is  the  well  spending  of  it, 
and  not  the  length."  —Plutarch. 

"The  good  man  prolongs  his  life;    to  be  able  to  enjoy 
one's  past  is  to  live  twice."  — Martial. 


chapter    XI 

GOLD  VERSUS  IDEALS 

"You  cannot  properly  call  a  man  happy  because  he  pos- 
sesses much.  He  more  justly  claims  the  title  of  happy  who 
knows  how  to  make  a  wise  use  of  the  gifts  of  the  gods,  and 
how  to  endure  the  privations  of  poverty."  — Horace. 


"  To  be  rich  is  to  have  a  ticket  of  admission  to  the  master 
works  and  chief  men  of  every  nation."  — Emerson. 

"Every  man  is  a  consumer  and  ought  to  be  a  producer. 
He  fails  to  make  good  his  place  in  the  world  unless  he  not 
only  pays  his  debt,  but  adds  something  to  the  common  wealth." 

— Emerson. 

"  In  this  case  also  the  war  is  against  two  enemies — wealth 
and  poverty;  one  of  whom  corrupts  the  soul  of  man  with 
luxury,  while  the  other  drives  him  by  pain  into  utter  shame- 
lessness."  — Plato. 


XI 

GOLD  VERSUS  IDEALS 

THERE  is  a  certain  momentous  question  that 
presents  itself  to  nearly  every  ambitious 
youth  early  in  his  career,  and  upon  the  an- 
swer to  which  practically  all  his  future  may  depend. 
The  question  is  this:  Shall  the  life  ideal  ignore  as  far 
as  may  be  the  acquisition  of  money ;  or  must  we  reckon 
gold  among  the  necessaries  even  of  the  intellectual  life  ? 

Few  questions  give  more  open  field  for  the  maunder- 
ing of  platitudes  or  the  presentation  of  illustrative  quota- 
tions than  this.  It  were  easy  to  discourse  at  almost  any 
length  on  the  false  allurements  of  wealth.  But  I  shall 
instead  content  myself  with  two  quotations,  which 
present  this  side  of  the  case  in  essentially  the  same  light ; 
one  of  them  terse  as  becomes  its  Greek  origin,  the  other 
more  detailed,  yet  in  effect  an  amplification  of  the  same 
text.  I  present  these  excerpts  the  more  willingly 
because  one  was  written  more  than  two  thousand  years 
ago,  the  other  about  a  century  and  a  half  ago;  hence 
they  have  the  added  value  of  teaching  that  the  worship 
of  Mammon  is  by  no  means  peculiar  to  our  own  age  or 
generation,  as  is  sometimes  foolishly  assumed.  In 
point  of  fact,  we  should  find  the  same  spirit  ram- 
pant throughout  the  range  of  history,  did  we  choose 
to  make  the  most  casual  search  for  it. 

Our  Greek  quotation  is  to  be  found  in  the  Greek 
Anthology,  where  it  is  ascribed,  somewhat  doubtfully 

[185] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

to  Theognis.     It  is  this  succinct  but  highly  suggestive 
utterance : 

"Money  to  mortals  becomes  a  madness." 
Our  other  quotation  is  from  the  "Adversaria"  of 
John  Jortin,  an  English  church  historian  and  critic, 
who  was  bom  in  1698  and  died  in  1770.  Though 
rather  long,  the  excerpt  has  peculiar  pertinence  to  the 
present  inquiry,  since  happiness  is  its  direct  theme; 
and  the  case  it  presents  is  so  usual  a  one  that  we  may 
well  give  it  precedence  to  the  opportunity  for  moralising. 

"Where,"  says  Jortin,  "where  is  happiness  to  be 
found  ?    Where  is  her  dwelling-place  ? 

"Not,  where  we  seek  her,  and  where  we  expect  to  find 
her.  Happiness  is  a  modest  recluse,  who  seldom  shows 
her  lovely  face  in  the  polite  or  in  the  busy  world.  .  .  . 
Among  the  vanities  and  the  evils,  which  Solomon  be- 
held under  the  sun,  one  is,  an  access  of  temporal  for- 
tunes to  the  detriment  of  the  possessor;  whence  it 
appears,  that  prosperity  is  a  dangerous  thing,  and  that 
few  persons  have  a  head  strong  enough,  or  a  heart  good 
enough  to  bear  it.  A  sudden  rise  from  a  low  station,  as 
it  sometimes  shows  to  advantage  the  virtuous  and  ami- 
able qualities,  which  could  not  assert  themself  before, 
so  it  more  frequently  calls  forth  and  exposes  to  view 
those  spots  of  the  soul,  which  lay  lurking  in  secret, 
cramped  by  penury,  and  veiled  with  dissimulation. 

"An  honest  and  sensible  man  is  placed  in  a  middle 
station,  in  circumstances  rather  scanty  than  abounding. 
He  hath  all  the  necessaries  but  none  of  the  superfluities 
of  life;  and  these  necessaries  he  acquires  by  his  pru- 

[186] 


GOLD  VERSUS  IDEALS 

dence,  his  studies,  and  his  industry.  If  he  seeks  to 
better  his  income  it  is  by  such  methods  as  hurt  neither 
his  conscience  nor  his  constitution.  He  hath  friends 
and  acquaintances  of  his  own  rank;  he  receives  good 
ofifers  from  them  and  he  returns  the  same.  As  he  hath 
his  occupations,  he  hath  his  diversions  also;  and  par- 
takes of  the  simple,  frugal,  obvious,  innocent,  and 
cheerful  amusements  of  Hfe.  By  a  sudden  turn  of  things 
he  grows  great,  in  the  church  or  in  the  state.  Now  his 
fortune  is  made,  and  he  says  to  himself,  'The  days  of 
scarcity  are  past,  the  days  of  plenty  are  come,  and 
happiness  is  come  along  with  them.'  Mistaken  man! 
It  is  no  such  thing.  He  nevermore  enjoys  one  happy 
day  compared  with  those  which  once  shone  upon  him. 
He  discards  his  old  companions,  or  treats  them  with 
proud,  distant,  or  cold  civility.  Friendship,  free  and 
open  conversation,  rational  enquiry,  sincerity,  content- 
ment, and  the  plain  and  unadulterated  pleasures  of  life 
are  no  more;  they  departed  from  him  along  with  his 
poverty.  New  connections,  desires,  new  cares,  take 
place,  and  engross  so  much  of  his  time  and  of  his 
thoughts,  that  he  neither  improves  his  heart  nor  his 
understanding.  He  lives  ambitious  and  restless  and 
dies  RICH." 

That  the  case  thus  detailed  by  Jortin  is  drawn  from 
life,  no  one  will  question.  Most  of  us  could  point  sim- 
ilar illustrations  from  our  experience  of  this  later  gener- 
ation. The  moral  of  such  a  life  points  itself,  and  the 
contemplation  of  such  a  denouement  might  well  serve 
as  a  warning.     But  before  we  are  led  to  consider  its 

[187] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

lesson  as  altogether  definitive,  let  us  pause  long  enough  to 
reflect  that  the  subject  has  another  aspect.  As  suggest- 
ing this  let  me  introduce  yet  another  quotation;  this  one, 
like  our  first,  from  the  wisdom  of  the  Greek  Anthology. 

The  author  this  time  is  Palladas.  He  apostrophises 
the  symbol  of  wealth  in  this  fashion : 

"O  gold,  the  father  of  flatterers,  the  son  of  pain  and 
care:  to  have  thee  is  a  fear;  not  to  have  thee,  a  sor- 
row." 

It  is  this  last  clause  that  demands  our  attention: 
*'Not  to  have  thee  is  a  sorrow" — "If  an  evil,  thou  art  a 
necessary  evil;  your  ideal  is  false,  yet  it  will  not  be 
altogether  gainsaid  in  this  practical  world." 

And  here  again  the  universal  experience  of  mankind 
gives  assent.  The  words  and  the  thought  are  a  paradox ; 
but  the  paradox  is  none  the  less  a  truth.  Our  Croesus 
as  presented  by  Jortin,  is  an  unhandsome  figure;  but 
could  we  not  easily  enough  match  him  from  the  ranks  of 
abject  poverty?  Much  money  to  mortals  may  of  a 
truth  become  a  madness;  but  does  sanity  come  as  the 
handmaid  of  Want?  And  at  the  very  worst  is  our 
ambitious  and  restless  plutocrat  less  happy  than  the 
aspirant  after  higher  ideals  who  loiows  not  where  to 
find  a  crust  for  his  dear  ones?  Sane  judgment  dare 
not  affirm  it. 

We  are  forced,  then,  to  reckon  with  this  "father  of 
flatterers,  son  of  pain  and  care,"  affect  to  despise  him 
how  we  may.  And  however  Hghtly  we  may  thrust 
aside  his  allurements  in  the  time  of  our  idol-forming 
youth,  we  shall  probably  find  that  they  will  make  them- 
selves felt  at  some  later  period  of  our  life-journey. 

[i88] 


GOLD  VERSUS  IDEALS 

I  recall  very  clearly  the  impression  made  upon  me  in 
early  manhood  by  the  cynical  words  of  a  successful 
business  man,  whose  pursuit  of  money  had  not  al- 
together warped  his  mind  away  from  other  interests, 
and  whose  keenness  of  insight  and  sanity  of  judgment 
gave  weight  to  his  utterances.  "My  lad,"  said  he, 
"be  advised  by  one  who  knows  the  world.  Rest  as- 
sured there  is  no  man  who  does  not  sooner  or  later  come 
to  see  the  day  when  he  appreciates  the  value  of  money. 
No  man  is  all  his  life  a  scoffer  before  the  shrine  of  Mam- 
mon," 

I  chose  not  to  beheve  that  cynic  then.  I  do  not  like 
to  admit  to  myself  that  I  quite  beheve  him  now.  Yet 
I  fear  that  the  wider  one's  outlook  on  history,  the  fuller 
one's  knowledge  of  mankind,  the  nearer  must  one 
come  to  conceding  the  general  truth  of  that  unwelcome 
estimate. 

At  the  very  worst,  however,  perhaps  the  estimate 
is  susceptible  of  a  less  unwholesome  interpretation  than 
the  cynical  phrase-maker  himself  would  have  put  upon 
it.  After  all,  gold  is  only  a  symbol.  A  mountain  of  it, 
on  an  uninhabited  island,  would  be  worthless  to  a 
Crusoe  whom  fate  stranded  there.  But  in  our  civiliza- 
tion it  may  be  the  symbol  of  ideal  things  no  less  than  of 
sordid  gratifications  of  the  sense.  It  may  be  essential 
to  the  securing  of  mental  and  spiritual  no  less  than  of 
material  food.  It  not  only  may  be;  it  must  be  essen- 
tial, since  it  is  symboHc  of  all  things  that  sane  mortals 
desire. 

And  that  is  why  even  the  most  ideahstic  dreamer 
may  not  always  scoff  before  the  shrine  of  Mammon. 

[189] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

That  is  why  the  aspiring  youth  has  not  made  a  choice  as 
he  thinks,  but  has  only  expressed  a  paradox,  when  he 
says  exultingly:  "I  choose  Ideals  rather  than  Gold." 
Everybody  chooses  Ideals;  it  is  only  that  the  ideals  of 
one  are  associated  with  things  more  obviously  and  di- 
rectly purchaseable  with  gold;  those  of  another  with 
things  less  directly  and  obviously  purchaseable. 

Let  us  then  frankly  recognise  and  as  frankly  admit 
that  in  this  practical  world  a  certain  amount  of  practical 
success  is  essential  to  happiness.  The  man  who  nurses 
an  ideal  in  poverty  will  not,  as  a  rule,  be  able  to  pursue 
that  ideal  so  far  as  would  be  possible  were  he  surrounded 
by  material  comforts.  Hunger  may  sometimes  have 
inspired  the  visions  of  a  fanatic ;  but  the  saner  creations 
of  genius  are  conceived  without  the  stimulus  of  an  empty 
stomach.  Indeed,  it  is  scarcely  too  much  to  say,  with 
the  old  Greek  Dion  HaHcamassus:  "No  generous 
thoughts  can  suggest  themselves  to  a  man  in  want  of 
the  necessaries  of  life." 

Certain  it  is,  on  the  other  hand,  that  no  inconsiderable 
part  of  the  world's  creative  intellectual  work  has  been  per- 
formed by  men  who  could  scarcely  have  worked  so  well 
— if  indeed  they  could  have  done  their  work  at  all — had 
not  fortune  favored  them,  in  the  ordinary  materialistic 
sense  of  the  words. 

We  are  on  the  whole  much  too  prone  to  think  of  genius 
as  starving  in  a  garret.  In  reality,  the  highest  genius  is 
usually  associated  with — perhaps  is  never  dissevered 
from —  the  capacity  for  practical  achievement.  Shake- 
speare made  a  fortune  with  his  pen,  in  an  age  when 

[190] 


GOLD   VERSUS   IDEALS 

literature  did  not  usually  bring  large  emoluments. 
Milton  was  the  efficient  secretary  and  practical  apologist 
of  the  most  practical  of  conquerors  and  rulers.  Dante 
took  an  eager  interest  in  the  political  conflicts  of  his 
time,  as  the  most  casual  reading  of  the  Divine  Comedy 
will  reveal.  Machiavelli  and  Bacon,  Leonardo  and 
Newton  were  the  counselors  of  princes;  as,  in  the 
remoter  age,  were  Aristotle  and  the  two  Plinys,  and  as, 
in  our  own  day,  were  Gladstone  and  Bismarck.  Vol- 
taire turned  aside  from  literature  for  a  short  time  to 
make  a  fortune,  in  order  to  prove,  as  he  characteristically 
said,  how  easily  the  thing  might  be  done.  Grote 
and  Schliemann  began  their  historical  labors  after  they 
had  gained  financial  independence  in  business  pursuits; 
and  the  sweetest  singer  of  the  Victorian  age  was  noted 
for  the  thrift  with  which  he  disposed  of  his  inspired 
wares. 

A  popular  form  of  cant  would  make  it  a  misfortune  to 
inherit  wealth.  Doubtless  sometimes  it  is  so,  to  youth 
of  defective  stamina;  but  consider  how  often,  on  the 
other  hand,  inherited  competency  has  proved  itself  no 
hindrance  to  genius.  The  list  is  a  long  one — from 
Plato  in  antiquity  to  Gibbon,  Byron,  Darwin,  Brown- 
ing, Ruskin,  Tennyson  in  modern  times — of  men  of 
genius  who  were  nurtured  in  luxury,  and  who  never 
had  to  consider  the  question  of  material  ways  and 
means.  Who  dare  affirm  that  for  these  men,  and  a 
host  of  their  fellows,  the  possession  of  gold  was  not  a 
means  to  the  attainment  of  the  highest  ideals  ? 

Affect  not,  then,  my  eager  aspirant,  that  fine  scorn 
of  the  fleshpots.    Render  unto  the  power  of  gold  the 

[191] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

tribute  that  is  its  due ;  only  adhere  to  that  other  principle 
which  demands  that  money  shall  be  your  servant,  not 
your  master.  Therein  lies  the  key  to  the  entire  situa- 
tion :  from  first  to  last  you  must  remember  that  gold  is 
a  means  to  an  end,  and  not  itself  the  end.  Cling  to 
your  visionary  ideals,  even  while  pursuing  the  sordid 
paths  of  the  practical  business  life.  If  your  desire  be 
great  enough,  you  will  find  a  way  in  time  to  gratify  it. 
The  very  fact  that  you  are  yearning  to  get  out  of  the 
toils  of  present  labor,  will  teach  you  diligence  and  pru- 
dence, and  keep  you  from  the  dangers  of  unqualified 
Mammon-worship.  If  your  ideal  beckon  with  con- 
stancy, you  will  find  time  in  hours  of  relaxation  to 
recognize  its  claims.  And  in  so  doing  you  will  be 
developing  that  other  side  of  your  nature  in  a  way  to 
give  you  freedom  from  the  tyranny  of  gold.  You  will 
prevent,  or  help  to  prevent,  the  lust  of  material  gain 
from  assuming  the  force  of  an  imperative  fixed  idea. 
And  thus  when  you  finally  have  a  reasonable  competency 
you  may  be  able  to  turn  aside  from  business  and  en- 
joy a  life  of  freedom. 


[192] 


Chapter    XII 
VOCATION   VERSUS  AVOCATION 

"Human  happiness  .  .  .  seems  to  consist  of  three  in- 
gredients,— action,  pleasure,  and  indolence.  And  though 
these  ingredients  ought  to  be  mixed  in  different  proportions 
according  to  the  different  dispositions  of  the  persons,  yet  no 
one  ingredient  can  be  entirely  wanting  without  destroying 
in  some  measure  the  relish  of  the  whole  composition." 

— David  Hmne. 


"  I  am  rather  disposed  to  say  all  things  are  good  in  as  far  as 
they  are  pleasant,  if  they  have  no  consequences  of  another  sort, 
and  in  as  far  as  they  are  painful  they  are  bad." 

—Plato. 


XII 


VOCATION  VERSUS  AVOCATION 

WE  have  just  contemplated  optimistically  a 
play-time  that  is  to  come  after  your  business 
activity  has  put  you  into  possession  of  a 
competent  fortune.  But  we  must  not  slur  the  fact  that 
this  ideal  of  financial  independence  may  never  be  at- 
tained. Strive  as  you  will,  under  existing  economic 
conditions,  you  may  never  acquire  a  competency  that 
will  enable  you  to  retire  from  business.  Most  men 
never  do — more's  the  pity.  You  will  do  well,  then,  to 
make  sure  of  the  benefits  of  relaxation  by  seizing  them 
as  you  go  along.  All  work  and  no  play  makes  a  dull 
boy  and  a  tiresome  man.  Your  brain,  like  any  other 
machine,  needs  a  rest  from  the  grinding  cares  of  the 
day.  A  change  of  activity — a  diverting  line  of  thought 
or  a  game  of  chance  or  skill — has  marvellous  recupera- 
tive value,  even  aside  from  its  directly  pleasurable  effects. 
It  is  medicine  to  a  brain  distraught  with  business 
worriments. 

And  if  such  a  line  of  action  may  be  curative  of  ills 
that  already  exist,  it  may  be  no  less  preventive  of  future 
evils.  If  it  puts  your  feet  on  firm  ground  to-day,  it  may 
also  prevent  you  from  crossing  to-morrow's  bridge  be- 
fore you  come  to  it.  You  will  do  well,  then,  on  many 
accounts,  to  cultivate  habits  of  pleasurable  activity  as 
a  part  of  your  e very-day  routine.  Give  yourself  the 
freedom  of  occasional  hours  of  mental  diversion  from 

[195] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

week  to  week  and  from  year  to  year.  You  will  gain 
time  by  it  in  the  end.  You  will  come  nearer  to  living 
your  life  fully — which  is  another  way  of  saying  happily. 
The  man  that  has  no  interests  outside  the  one  line  of  his 
business  or  profession  develops  at  best  a  pitifully  one- 
sided and  incomplete  personality.  Even  though  he 
attain  great  success,  we  may  question  whether  his  ag- 
gregate of  pleasure  has  been  as  large  as  it  might  have 
been  had  he  widened  his  horizons.  He  has  lacked  the 
all  important  spice  of  variety.  He  has  sat  at  a  banquet 
of  a  single  course. 

You  may  well  hesitate  to  imitate  him  in  this  regard, 
even  for  the  prize  of  like  success.  Rather  take  warning 
from  his  warped  personality.  If  you  yourself  have  no 
innate  interest  or  ideal  that  beckons  you  aside  for  hours 
of  relaxation,  you  should  create  one.  In  other  words, 
you  should  choose  a  hobby  if  a  hobby  has  not  already 
chosen  you.  If  you  have  learned  the  art  of  working, 
you  should  study  only  less  ardently  the  art  of  playing. 
As  a  factor  in  your  happiness,  the  choice  of  an  avocation 
is  scarcely  less  important  than  the  choice  of  a  vocation. 

As  to  the  exact  character  of  this  avocation,  your 
individual  tastes,  opportunities,  and  needs  must  decide. 
If  you  have  a  strong  innate  leaning  toward  some  special 
line  of  investigation,  that  of  course  will  aid  you  in  the 
selection.  Otherwise,  if  you  are  an  average  man,  it 
perhaps  will  not  greatly  matter  which  one  of  many 
lines  you  pursue,  provided  it  be  one  in  which  you 
can  develop  a  real  and  abiding  interest,  and  that  it  be  not 
too  similar  to  the  work  of  your  business  life. 

[196] 


VOCATION   VERSUS   AVOCATION 

The  thought  naturally  suggests  itself,  that,  if  your 
business  is  one  that  induces  sedentary  habits,  your 
hobby  should  take  you  into  the  open  and  give  you 
physical  exercise.  Hunting,  fishing,  riding,  yachting, 
automobiling  at  once  come  to  mind ;  and  such  games  as 
tennis,  and  in  particular  golf.  All  these  have  their 
utihty  as  purveyors  to  health  of  mind  and  body.  But 
it  is  only  for  the  least  intellectual  minds  that  these 
pursuits,  severally  or  jointly,  could  quite  fill  the  needs 
of  our  present  purpose.  As  ideals  for  the  leisure  of 
later  years;  as  boon  companions  of  the  spirit  in  all 
v^^eathers  and  in  all  seasons,  these  scarcely  serve,  v^^hat- 
ever  the  measure  of  enthusiasm  with  which  they  may  be 
followed  in  youth  or  in  middle  life. 

Moreover,  there  are  many  men  who  have  a  positive 
distaste  for  physical  exercise,  and  who  take  little  or  no 
interest  in  games  or  competitions  of  any  sort.  Many 
men  of  the  greatest  mental  activity  are  physically  lazy, 
even  though  possessed  of  fine  physique  and  great 
physical  strength.  Such  a  man,  for  example,  was  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  who  used  to  pronounce  himself  the  laziest 
of  men.  In  such  a  case,  a  physiological  explanation 
is  perhaps  to  be  found  in  an  inherent  tendency  of  the 
brain  centres  that  have  to  do  with  higher  mental  ef- 
forts to  operate  at  the  expense  of  the  so-called  motor 
centres. 

But  whatever  the  explanation,  the  fact  holds,  and 
must  be  reckoned  with  in  determining  the  choice  of 
an  avocation.  For  such  a  person,  no  mere  physical 
diversion  could  fully  serve  the  varied  and  comprehen- 
sive purposes  of  a  hobby. 

[197] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

But  fortunately  there  is  no  dearth  of  less  strenuous 
pursuits  from  which  to  choose.  The  field  of  mechanics, 
for  example,  offers  almost  boundless  opportunities  for 
investigation  in  lines  that  lead  on  and  on  to  realms  of 
unending  interest.  Whoever  will  fit  himself  up  a  little 
physical  laboratory,  with  the  smallest  equipment  of 
apparatus  in  the  line  of,  let  us  say,  electricity,  will  find 
that  he  has  provided  a  play-house  that  has  infinite 
possibilities.  A  chemical  laboratory  has  equal  pos- 
sibilities, and  may  be  inaugurated  with  the  most  mea- 
gre equipment.  Dr.  Priestley,  the  discoverer  of  oxygen, 
made  most  of  his  experiments  with  an  old  gun-barrel. 
He  was  a  preacher  by  profession,  and  only  an  amateur 
in  science ;  yet  he  will  always  be  remembered  as  one  of 
the  most  important  figures  in  the  history  of  scientific 
discovery.  To  be  sure,  the  equipment  of  his  eighteenth- 
century  laboratory  would  not  satisfy  the  investigator 
of  to-day;  yet  even  now  a  start  may  be  made  with  a 
small  and  inexpensive  supply  of  implements. 

Or,  again,  the  field  of  optics,  in  some  of  its  depart- 
ments, is  full  of  allurements.  I  know  a  man,  a  printer 
by  profession,  who  devotes  all  his  spare  time  to  the  in- 
vestigation of  gases  and  other  substances  with  the  aid  of 
a  spectroscope,  and  who  finds  new  zest  in  life  with  each 
succeeding  experiment.  Others  find  a  microscope,  with 
its  revelations  of  the  mysteries  of  the  unseen  world, 
a  source  of  abiding  and  ever-growing  interest.  Or,  if 
you  prefer,  a  small  telescope  will  introduce  you  to  a 
new  universe  of  constellations,  whose  mysteries  enthrall 
the  mind  more  and  more  completely  as  they  are  farther 
and  farther  investigated. 

[198] 


VOCATION   VERSUS   AVOCATION 

And  in  any  one  of  these  fields  you  might  become  a 
discoverer  of  new  facts — a  veritable  explorer  of  the  un- 
known— while  yet  you  worked  only  as  an  amateur. 
Herschel  electrified  the  world  with  the  discovery  of 
the  planet  Uranus  while  he  was  still  a  musician  by 
profession.  Gibers,  another  great  figure  in  the  history 
of  astronomy,  remained  an  amateur  all  his  life.  He 
was  a  physician  by  profession,  like  so  many  other 
path-makers  in  the  field  of  science, — witness,  for  exam- 
ple. Black,  the  chemist,  Hutton,  the  geologist,  the 
marvellous  Thomas  Young;  Erasmus  Darwin,  who 
preceded  his  grandson  as  an  evolutionist;  Mayer, 
the  discoverer  of  the  law  of  the  conservation  of  energy; 
Leidy,  the  American  palaeontologist;  and  Huxley, 
the  great  protagonist  of  evolution.  All  of  these — and 
the  list  might  be  indefinitely  lengthened — were  men 
who  at  least  began  their  career  of  discovery  while 
practising  medicine  as  a  means  of  livelihood. 

Nor  need  we  confine  such  a  list  to  the  record  of 
achievements  in  scientific  lines.  Oliver  Goldsmith, 
Thomas  Smollett,  and  Frederick  Schiller  were  all 
trained  to  the  medical  profession;  and  Jean  Astruc 
was  court  physician  to  Louis  XIV  at  the  time  when 
he  published  the  work  that  laid  the  foundation  of  the 
modern  methods  of  so-called  Higher  Criticism  of  the 
Bible. 

Such  cases  show  that  the  avocation  may  lie  far  afield 
from  the  Hne  of  every-day  practical  activity.  Part  of 
them  suggest  also  that  the  avocation  may  presently 
supersede  the  vocation;  but  there  can  be  no  possible 
objection  to  that,  in  case  the  apostate  has  demonstrated 

[  199  ] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

his  capacity  for  the  new  calling.  Indeed,  I  am  all 
along  urging  that  the  avocation  chosen  should  be  one 
which  will  supply  opportunity  for  permanent  occupancy 
and  ever-growing  interest  in  the  event  of  your  being 
some  day  able  to  give  it  your  exclusive  attention. 
That  is  another  reason  why  the  games  and  recreations 
mentioned  a  few  paragraphs  back  are  not  in  themselves 
adequate  to  take  position  as  desirable  avocations. 

It  should  not  be  overlooked,  however,  that  the  adoption 
of  an  out-door  recreation  such  as  walking,  riding,  auto- 
mobiling,  or  golfing, — and  in  even  greater  measure  the 
sport  of  the  hunter  or  fisher, — may  be  advantageously 
combined  with  some  Nature-study,  such  as  botany, 
zoology,  ornithology,  or  geology,  that  will  round  it  out 
to  full  proportions.  But  in  such  a  case  the  original 
sport  will  presently  come  to  take  an  altogether  subor- 
dinate place  in  your  interests,  as  your  enthusiasm  for 
the  investigation  of  a  new  bird-note  or  an  unknown 
blossom  or  a  mysterious  ledge  of  rocks  becomes  more 
and  more  ardent.  And  these  Nature-studies,  I  may 
add,  have  this  further  advantage,  that  they  furnish 
the  best  possible  introduction  to  the  study  of  Nature's 
highest  product,  man  himself.  Zoology  may  prove 
the  highway  to  anthropology  and  sociology;  and  no 
fields  are  more  open  than  these  to  the  investigations  of 
earnest  and  logical  students;  none  stand  more  in  need 
of  workers  who  have  had  such  biological  training  as 
Nature-studies  would  give  you. 

It  may  be,  however,  that  your  inherent  tastes  are  such 
that  no  line  of  scientific  investigation  at  all  appeals  to 

[  200] 


VOCATION   VERSUS   AVOCATION 

you.  In  that  case,  the  wide  field  of  the  arts  will  surely 
furnish  an  attraction.  Perhaps  you  care  for  pictures? 
Then  by  all  means  study  drawing,  and  learn  to  make 
pictures;  for  there  are  few  more  perennial  pleasures 
than  that  which  comes  from  seeing  new  forms  body 
forth  on  the  hitherto  blank  paper  or  canvas.  No- 
where else  does  the  sense  of  creating,  with  all  its  joys, 
come  more  vividly  than  in  the  production  of  a  new  entity 
so  tangible,  so  unique,  as  a  picture, — provided,  of  course 
the  picture  is  a  fairly  artistic  one. 

But  what  if  you  lack  the  inherent  capacity  of  eye  and 
hand  to  take  on  the  training  essential  to  the  mere  tech- 
nique of  the  artist  ?  As  to  that,  you  need  not  have  much 
fear,  if  you  have  any  taste  for  the  subject  at  all.  It  is 
often  said  that  anyone  who  can  learn  to  write  can 
learn  to  draw.  I  have  had  occasion  to  point  out  that 
the  history  of  the  art  of  writing  shows  that  this  assertion 
expresses  something  less  than  the  truth.  There  were 
many  generations  of  people  who  could  draw  before 
ever  there  was  one  that  had  even  the  conception  of  writ- 
ing. And  when  the  idea  of  writing  did  make  itself 
tangible,  the  feat  was  accomplished  merely  by  putting 
together  a  series  of  pictures  to  express  a  sequence  of 
ideas.  The  picture-writing  of  the  Mayas  of  Yucatan 
and  the  hieroglyphics  of  the  ancient  Egyptians  show 
that  among  these  peoples  the  scribe  had  need  to  be  a 
draughtsman  of  no  mean  skill.  And  the  feat  of  the 
modern  penman  seems  less  difficult  only  because  writ- 
ing is  so  universal  an  accomplishment.  In  point  of 
fact,  every  child  learns  to  draw  the  characters  before 
he  can  properly  be  said  to  write  them ;  and  if  he  learns 

[  20I  1 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

to  draw  these  characters,  there  is  no  reason  why,  with 
proper  effort,  he  should  not  learn  to  draw  others  in  end- 
less variety. 

Of  course  it  does  not  follow  that  everyone  could 
learn  to  draw  really  well.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is 
surprising  to  observe,  in  any  drawing  class,  how  many 
pupils  attain  to  practically  the  same  stage  of  efficiency. 
In  the  art  schools  everyone  becomes  a  fairly  good  tech- 
nician. Not  all  reach  the  goal  with  the  same  ease,  of 
course;  but  all  do  attain  a  fair  measure  of  technical 
skill  if  they  persevere.  It  is  amazing  to  contemplate 
the  acres  of  canvas,  every  square  foot  showing  high 
technical  efficiency,  that  are  exposed  each  spring  in  such 
exhibitions  as  that  of  the  Paris  Salon.  Not  one  in 
ten  of  the  artists  that  exhibit  here  has  any  profound 
artistic  inspiration;  not  one  in  ten  has  any  message  to 
give  the  world,  or  will  ever  paint  a  memorable  picture. 
Nine  in  ten  of  them  have  all  their  art  in  their  fingers 
and  none  in  their  brains;  but  their  mastery  of  the 
mere  grammar  of  the  craft  is  all  the  more  startling  for 
that,  and  the  more  inspiriting  to  the  man  who,  possess- 
ing soul-pictures,  needs  but  the  training  of  the  hand  to 
be  able  to  make  them  tangible. 

If,  then,  you  feel  that  it  would  give  you  pleasure  to 
paint,  do  not  be  debarred  from  making  the  effort  for 
fear  that  you  will  not  attain  full  mastery.  Your  effort,  if 
intelligently  directed,  and  faithfully  pursued,  may  lead 
to  far  better  results  than  you  would  dare  predict;  and 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  your  output  should  in  the  end 
prove  but  mediocre,  it  will  be  no  crime  to  have  added 
one  more  to  the  large  company  of  artisan-artists.     If  you 

[  202  ] 


VOCATION  \TERSUS  AVOCATION 

have  gained  pleasure  from  the  effort  in  the  mean  time, 
your  main  purpose  will  have  been  achieved.  For, 
be  it  understood,  in  all  this  I  am  speaking  of  art  as  an 
avocation,  not  as  a  profession.  I  would  advise  no  one 
to  enter  the  crowded  ranks  of  professional  art,  who  had 
not  both  the  keenest  predilection  for  the  calling,  and 
the  most  demonstrable  native  talent. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  speak  here  in  detail  of  such  com- 
panion arts  as  sculpture  and  music.  Mutatis  mutandis, 
what  has  been  said  of  painting  applies  equally  to  them. 
Either  can  offer  to  its  votaries  an  ever-widening  circle 
of  interests,  and  a  full  quota  of  hours  of  unalloyed  hap- 
piness. But  here  also,  it  must  be  understood,  earnest 
effort  and  long  practice  may  be  required  to  master  such 
details  of  mere  technique  as  lie  at  the  foundation  of 
true  proficiency. 

For  him  who  has  not  the  time,  the  energy,  or  the  in- 
clination to  assail  these  difBculties  of  technique,  there 
remains  the  refuge  of  photography, — half  an  art,  half  a 
mechanical  science,  but  a  wholly  alluring  craft  to  al- 
most anyone  who  will  take  it  in  hand  with  the  intent 
to  master  all  its  possibiHties.  It  is  a  craft,  too,  that, 
aside  from  its  intrinsic  merits,  has  great  utility  as  an 
adjunct  to  various  other  Hnes  of  study.  The  spectro- 
scopist,  the  astronomer,  and  the  microscopist  find  it 
invaluable  in  recording  the  revelations  of  their  instru- 
ments. The  artist  finds  it  of  use  in  lieu  of  sketch  book 
to  record  fleeting  impressions;  and  for  the  student  of 
Nature  the  camera  has  come  to  be  an  inseparable  com- 
panion.    Many  a  quondam  sportsman  now  hunts  with 

[203] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

camera  instead  of  gun,  and  finds  liis  skill  taxed  to  the 
utmost  in  bringing  game  within  the  desired  range  of 
the  new  weapon,  while  the  result  of  his  prowess  is  to 
leave  bird  and  beast  uninjured,  yet  to  give  him  trophies 
that  are  far  more  satisfactory  than  any  number  of 
carcasses  of  slaughtered  victims. 

This  reference  to  the  varied  uses  of  photography 
suggests — what,  indeed,  goes  without  saying — that  you 
need  not  confine  your  diversional  interests  to  a  single 
line.  As  a  sheer  means  of  gaining  pleasure,  it  is  often 
better  that  you  should  not  do  so.  Of  course  your  efforts 
remain  superficial  and  lack  mastership  somewhat  in 
proportion  as  they  are  diversified;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  it  often  happens  that  one  craft  helps  another, 
and,  failing  of  that,  a  diversity  of  avocations  implies 
a  wider  range,  if  not  a  profounder  depth,  of  pleasures. 
Few  persons  of  varied  interests  regret  their  versatility, 
I  opine,  even  though  they  may  feel  that  greater 
concentration  would  have  carried  them  farther  in  a 
single  Hne. 

But  whether  your  hobbies  be  single  or  diversified,  and 
whether  they  follow  any  of  the  lines  just  suggested  or 
range  into  other  fields  that  we  need  not  enter  here,  there 
is  one  incidental  opportunity  they  are  sure  to  open  to 
you  that  is  perhaps  even  more  important  than  their 
direct  influence  as  pleasure-bearers;  the  opportunity, 
namicly,  to  secure  acquaintance  with  sympathetic  minds 
interested  in  the  same  pursuit.  Every  craft  has  its 
bulletins  and  journals  to  supply  indirect  communica- 
tion between  its  votaries;    and  its  clubs,  associations, 

[204] 


VOCATION   VERSUS  AVOCATION 

and  assemblies  of  one  sort  or  another  to  facilitate  per- 
sonal intercourse. 

This  means  that  life-long  friendships  may  be  formed 
between  persons  of  kindred  tastes,  through  the  inter- 
position of  the  hobby.  And  after  all,  there  is  no  one 
other  source  of  happiness  that  is  so  certain  and  so  last- 
ing as  communion  with  friends.  "The  best  of  life  is 
conversation,"  says  Emerson;  and  conversation  im- 
plies mutual  interests  and  common  knowledge.  It  is 
useless,  for  example,  to  talk  of  your  hobby  to  some  one 
who  does  not  even  understand  its  terminology. 

The  friendships  thus  formed  differ,  too,  from  those 
formed  in  business  circles,  in  that  they  are  likely  to  be 
more  unselfish  and  hence  more  sincere.  Business 
competition  brings  out  the  sordid  side  of  a  man's  char- 
acter; and  your  pure  man  of  affairs  is  likely  to  take  a 
pessimistic  view^  of  human  nature.  He  doubts  even  the 
common  honesty  of  his  fellows,  and  contends  that 
*' every  man  has  his  price."  Hard  knocks  in  business 
have  made  him  suspicious  of  his  competitors.  He 
knows  that  the  business  maxim  of  at  least  a  large  pro- 
portion of  them  is:  "Get  money;  get  it  honestly  if 
you  can — but  get  it!"  He  is  the  rare  exception  if  he 
has  not  been  more  than  tempted  to  do  as  he  sees  the 
others  doing;  and  at  the  very  best  he  tends  to  grow 
selfish  and  unsympathetic  and  cynical.  He  must  ever 
challenge  the  sincerity  of  the  friendship  that  presently 
in  the  course  of  business  events,  may  have  to  be  weighed 
against  a  monetary  consideration. 

But  the  friendships  that  have  their  origin  in  the  mutual 
interests  of  the  avocation  are  put  to  no  such  test.     Here 

[205] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

there  is  no  question  of  rivalry  or  competition  in  the 
proper  sense  of  the  words,  but  only  of  friendly  emulation. 
The  proficiency  of  our  friends,  however  great,  will  take 
no  money  from  our  pocket;  will  in  nowise  influence 
the  character  of  our  own  work,  except  as  it  stimulates  us 
to  more  zealous  effort. 

Then,  just  as  the  stern  pursuit  of  money  tends  to  bring 
out  the  worse  side  of  a  man's  nature,  so  the  pursuit  of  a 
pleasant  ideal  tends  to  bring  out  the  better  side.  The 
sordid  maxim,  ''every  man  has  his  price,"  whatever 
its  force  in  the  business  world,  has  no  application  here, 
for  all  the  premiums  are,  beyond  question,  awarded  to 
honest  effort. 

We  may  indeed  believe — as  unquestionably  a  large 
number  of  men  of  affairs  do  believe — that  honesty  is 
the  best  policy,  even  as  a  pure  business  investment ;  but 
we  cannot  be  blind  to  the  fact  that  dishonest  business 
methods  do  sometimes  lead  to  fortunes.  Moreover, 
honesty  is  a  word  susceptible  of  some  flexibihty  of 
interpretation,  as  applied  to  practical  affairs;  and  it 
sometimes  happens  that  methods  of  business  come  to  be 
pretty  generally  accepted  as  legitimate  which  will  not 
stand  too  close  scrutiny  from  the  standpoint  of  abstract 
morality.  There  are  those  critics  who  would  contend 
that  nearly  all  the  great  fortunes  of  to-day  have  been 
accumulated  through  the  practise  of  methods  open  to 
such  adverse  judgment.  Not  infrequently  you  may 
see  the  knowing  ones  shrug  their  shoulders,  and  hear 
them  remark  cynically  that  "nothing  succeeds  like  suc- 
cess," when  one  of  these  fortunes  is  in  question. 

But  there  can  be  no  such  imputation  against  the 

[206] 


VOCATION   VERSUS   AVOCATION 

methods  by  which  you  may  arrive  at  any  successful 
issue  of  your  avocational  labors.  Here  the  new  fact 
you  discover  must  be  susceptible  of  verification  by  other 
observers  before  it  can  bring  you  credit;  the  new 
method  of  investigation  must  be  one  that  others  can  also 
follow;  the  new  interpretation  must  be  one  that  ap- 
peals to  other  connoisseurs  by  its  logicality  and  validity ; 
and — supposing  your  line  to  be  an  artistic  one — your 
picture  or  sculpture  or  what  not  must  bear  in  its  every 
line  the  proof  of  earnest  effort  and  honest  method. 
Here,  too,  nothing  succeeds  like  success,  but  there  are 
no  shady  bypaths  that  can  by  any  possibility  lead  to 
the  heights. 

Note  yet  another  contrast.  Business  competition, 
however  honestly  pursued,  is  a  strife — a  veritable 
battle;  your  success,  however  legitimate,  is  attained 
at  the  expense  of  some  less  skilful  or  less  fortunate  rival ; 
and  your  fortune,  unless  you  use  it  wisely,  may  be  a 
positive  injury  to  mankind, — a  detractor  from  the  sum 
of  human  happiness.  But  your  scientific  investigation 
will  rarely  militate  against  the  interests  of  any  rival; 
will  do  no  injury  to  any  competitor,  there  usually  being 
none.  Your  success  will  be  something  over  which  all 
men  may  rejoice;  and  in  proportion  as  your  discovery 
has  importance,  it  will  serve  to  aid  others  to  the  com- 
pletion of  their  own  investigations,  or  will  add  directly 
to  the  welfare  of  humanity  at  large.  Similarly,  but 
even  more  obviously,  your  work  of  art,  in  proportion 
as  it  is  a  success,  will  add  directly  to  the  sum  of  human 
pleasure — injuring  no  one.    Your  pursuit  of  an  avoca- 

[207] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

tion  has,  then,  this  further  merit,  that,  though  you  may 
undertake  it  solely  for  your  own  divertisement  and 
pleasure,  yet  its  results,  so  far  as  they  have  any  im- 
portance at  all,  are  essentially  altruistic. 

And  this  conclusion  gives  the  crowning  warrant  to 
that  gospel  of  relaxation  which  has  been  the  central 
theme  of  the  foregoing  pages. 


[208] 


Part   IV 


MORAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE  PROBLEM 
OF   HAPPINESS 


"Pleasure  is  a  good  in  itself."  — Plato. 

"  Few  are  the  good  men  and  few  the  evil ;   the  great  ma- 
jority are  in  the  middle  ground  between  good  and  evil." 

—Plato. 

"Aristotle  was  once  asked  how  we  ought  to  behave  towards 
our  friends;  and  the  answer  was,  'As  we  would  wish  our 
friends  to  behave  towards  us.'"        — Diogenes  Laertius. 


Chapter    XIII 

LIFE  COMPANIONSHIP 

"Whenever  we  step  out  of  domestic  life  in  search  of 
felicity,  we  come  back  again  disappointed,  tired,  and 
chagrined.  One  day  passed  under  our  own  roof,  with  our 
friends  and  our  family,  is  worth  a  thousand  in  any  other 
place.  The  noise  and  bustle,  or,  as  they  are  foolishly 
called,  the  diversions  of  life,  are  despicable  and  tasteless  when 
once  we  have  experienced  the  real  delights  of  a  fireside." 

— John  Boyle. 


"Happiness  is  not  perfect  till  it  is  shared." 

— Jane  Porter. 


XIII 


LIFE  COMPANIONSHIP 


I  TRUST  it  needs  no  argument  to  show  that 
for  the  average  normal  person  the  decision 
to  marry  is  a  wise  decision.  The  institution 
of  marriage  was  the  foundation  rock  of  nascent  civil- 
ization and  has  been  the  cornerstone  of  all  higher 
social  development.  In  individual  cases  the  founda- 
tion crumbles,  amidst  the  jeers  of  ever-present  scoffers, 
but  this  tells  only  of  human  imperfectibiHty ;  it  offers 
no  argument  against  the  institution  itself.  As  well 
condemn  life  in  houses  because  now  and  then  a  dwelling 
collapses  to  the  destruction  of  its  inhabitants. 

But  if  marry  we  must  and  should,  what,  then,  is  the 
marriageable  age  ?  Is  it  on  the  whole  desirable  that  the 
young  man  should  marry  at  the  very  outset  of  his  career 
and  the  maiden  so  soon  as  she  is  well  out  of  school  ?  Or 
should  the  selection  of  a  life-companion  be  deferred 
until  such  time  as  a  certain  amount  of  experience  of 
the  world  has  matured  the  judgment  of  the  choosers? 

The  great  difficulty  with  our  query  is  that  early  and 
fervid  attachments  are  commonly  thought  of  as  savor- 
ing of  the  romantic  or  poetic,  and  as  being  therefore 
somewhat  removed  from  the  pale  of  sordid  analysis. 
Yet  in  sober  truth  they  should  be  dealt  with  in  terms 
of  natural  history.  It  is  as  natural  for  adolescent  youth 
of  opposite  sexes  to  attract  each  other  as  for  birds  to 
mate  in  the  spring.     And  the  youth  might  mate   as 

[213] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

freely  as  the  birds  do  were  it  not  for  certain  very 
imperative  restrictions  imposed  by  that  new  and  in  a 
sense  unnatural  state  of  things  which  we  term  civiliza- 
tion. The  existence  of  these  limitations,  however,  de- 
mands the  exercise  of  something  more  than  avian  fore- 
sight and  caution. 

The  development  of  the  restrictions  in  question  has 
its  origin,  in  the  last  analysis,  in  a  single  all-important 
fact  of  the  natural  history  of  man;  the  fact,  namely, 
that  the  human  offspring  requires  about  a  score  of  years 
to  attain  the  growth  that  will  render  it  independent  of 
parental  care. 

The  importance  of  that  salient  fact  in  shaping  the 
growth  of  civilization  could  by  no  possibility  be  over- 
estimated. It  is  the  primal  fact  among  those  natural 
endowments  that  have  given  permanency  and  stability 
to  human  society.  It  is  perhaps  foremost  among  the 
foundations  of  the  kind  of  morality  and  virtue  without 
which  civilization  could  not  have  progressed  to  its 
present  status. 

Consider,  for  example,  its  influence  on  the  question 
in  hand.  Our  hypothetical  birds,  mating  in  the  spring, 
soon  have  a  nest  of  fledglings  that  will  require  their 
joint  attention  for  five  or  six  weeks  at  most;  after 
which  they  may  go  their  several  ways.  Under  such 
circumstances  it  does  not  so  very  greatly  matter  whether 
the  mates  were  well  and  wisely  chosen ;  for  half  a  dozen 
weeks  do  not  make  up  a  preponderant  period  of  time 
even  in  the  life  of  a  bird.  But  our  callow  human  youth, 
mating  under  stress  of  their  primitive   instinct,   are 

[214] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

pretty  certain  soon  to  have  a  fledgling  or  two  in  the 
nest,  that  will  require  their  combined  efforts  for  a 
score  of  years.  Other  fledghngs  will  probably  follow 
at  intervals  of  two  or  three  years,  each  one  extending  the 
period  of  parental  responsibility  by  a  like  amount ;  and 
by  the  time  the  last  fledgling  is  ready  to  leave  the  nest, 
the  parents  are  no  longer  young,  no  longer  middle- 
aged  even; — their  life- journey  is  far  spent,  their  life- 
work  near  its  completion. 

Hence  it  is  that  human  marriage  is,  under  existing 
conditions,  so  fixed  and  permanent  an  institution. 
Hence  it  is  that  the  average  normal  man  and  woman 
choose  but  once,  while  upon  the  wisdom  of  that  choice 
will  depend  almost  everything  that  makes  for  the  happi- 
ness and  usefulness  of  their  own  lives  and  the  lives  of 
their  offspring.  So  long  as  marriage  continues  to  bring, 
as  an  unavoidable  sequel,  the  production  of  offspring, 
leaving  the  parents  no  option, — and  such  is  the  fact  for 
the  average  man  and  woman  to-day, — so  long  must  the 
marriage  state  be  regarded  as  normally  a  life  com- 
panionship and  a  life-long  mutual  responsibility;  nay, 
more,  a  responsibility  that  extends  down  the  long  line 
of  unborn  generations.  Obviously  then,  no  sane  man 
or  woman  of  normal  endowment  can  wish  to  enter  on 
the  matrimonial  state  without  full  and  earnest  consider- 
ation, and  the  utilisation  of  the  best  selective  judg- 
ment attainable. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  forget  that  it 
is  possible  to  carry  caution  to  a  dangerous  extreme. 
If  there  are  many  youths  who  tend  to  marry  before  they 

[215] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

are  really  ready  for  so  momentous  a  step,  there  are 
many  others  who  tend  to  hold  back  from  what  they 
consider  a  dangerous  experiment,  and  who  drift  finally 
into  confirmed  old-bachelorhood  to  the  lasting  dis- 
sipation of  their  best  chances  of  happiness.  And 
assuredly  the  case  of  these  unfortunates  must  not  be 
overlooked. 

The  youths,  of  both  sexes,  that  come  within  the 
range  of  the  present  point  of  view,  are  chiefly  those 
ambitious  ones  that  make  their  way  to  the  great  cities, 
and  undertake  to  carve  out  careers  under  the  adverse 
conditions  that  prevail  there.  To  be  specific,  the  case 
I  have  in  mind  is  that  of  the  young  men  and  women  who, 
possessed  of  some  measure  of  talent  for  a  professional 
or  an  artistic  career,  are  disposed  to  feel  that  marriage 
would  be  a  hindrance.  They  are  inclined  therefore, 
to  decide  against  matrimony,  and — in  the  somewhat 
grandiloquent  manner  to  which  youth  is  prone — to 
elect  a  "Career"  leading  presumably  to  the  heights  of 
accomplishment  and  fame.  The  budding  artist,  the 
newspaper  woman,  the  aspiring  writer  or  musician  are 
cases  in  point.  They  are  wont  to  feel  that  "freedom" 
is  necessary  to  them  if  they  are  to  scale  the  heights. 
They  must  not  be  hampered  by  the  cares  and  respon- 
sibilities of  a  family.  Their  mission  is  for  something 
"higher." 

To  one  who  has  passed  the  time  of  that  fine  young 
enthusiasm,  there  is  always  something  delightful  in  the 
contemplation  of  the  eager  spirit  of  conquest  which 
these  adolescent  aspirants  manifest.  Adolescence  is 
the  time  for  such  day-dreams,  and  surely  no  sympathetic 

[216] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

person  would  wish  to  rob  the  aspiring  youth  of  one  jot 
of  his  pleasure-giving  ambition.  Only  too  soon,  in 
most  cases,  will  he  cast  it  aside,  as  he  treads  the  rough 
path  of  experience.  Nor,  for  that  matter,  would  it  be 
possible  to  dampen  that  ardor  which  owes  its  being  to 
young  blood  pulsing  strong  in  resilient  arteries.  At 
this  stage  of  his  career,  the  youth  is  for  the  most  part 
beyond  the  pale  of  advice.  He  scorns  the  experience 
gained  in  an  earlier  generation.  Old-fogy  notions  are 
not  to  check  the  promptings  of  his  innate  genius. 

Moreover  such  youths  often  think  themselves  pro- 
vided with  all  the  comforts  that  matrimony  could  offer, 
without  its  attendant  responsibilities  and  worriments. 
They  regard  the  "love  in  a  cottage"  idea  as  obsolete; 
and  as  for  "a  loaf  of  bread,  a  glass  of  wine,  and  Thou" 
— why,  they  have  the  "Thou"  on  occasion,  and  are 
able  to  provide  more  sumptuous  fare  for  mutual  en- 
joyment than  if  the  possession  were  permanent. 

The  attitude  of  mind  here  implied  is  one  that  has 
always  found  full  development  in  the  world's  great 
cities,  as  an  outgrowth  of  the  ever-advancing  standards 
of  luxurious  living.  It  reached  a  climax,  for  example, 
in  im.perial  Rome  when  Augustus  was  led  to  put  an 
ofBcial  premium  on  matrimony,  and  to  penalize  celibacy. 
It  seems  a  menace  to  the  public  weal,  because  its  vo- 
taries— by  hypothesis  of  a  better  class — fail  to  per- 
petuate their  qualities;  and  it  takes  from  the  sum  of 
individual  happiness,  since — as  we  have  agreed  to  ad- 
mit— the  surest  goal  to  this  lies  along  the  matrimonial 
way.    It  is  a  propensity  that  is  the  more  deserving  of 

[217] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

attention  because,  with  the  enormous  growth  of  city 
populations  that  characterises  our  age,  it  is  becoming 
more  and  more  a  factor  to  be  reckoned  with. 

What,  then,  shall  we  say  to  the  young  men  and  women 
who  have  reached  years  of  discretion,  yet  are  prone  to 
accept  the  maxim  of  Leibnitz,  that  marriage  is  perhaps 
"a  good  thing,  but  one  upon  which  the  wise  man  should 
ponder  all  his  life"? 

A  whimsical  person  might  reply  with  fair  enough 
show  of  reason  that  we  may  as  well  say  nothing  at  all, 
since  very  few  persons,  young  or  old,  marry  merely  be- 
cause they  are  advised  to  do  so,  or  for  any  reason  except 
to  please  their  individual  tastes.  He  might  point  out 
further  that  the  larger  number  of  these  very  enthusiasts 
aforementioned,  after  fortifying  themselves  with  seem- 
ing security  in  the  pursuit  of  their  career  in  single  bless- 
edness, find  themselves,  while  still  at  a  tender  age, 
and  quite  unable  to  care  for  a  family,  married  and  settled 
down  into  conventional  channels  at  the  instance  of  some 
irresistible  pair  of  eyes  that  their  early  enthusiasm 
had  forgotten  to  reckon  with.  Nevertheless  in  view 
of  the  exceptional  cases  that  do  here  and  there  carry 
out  their  early  resolve,  and  as  a  solace  to  the  vanquished 
pride  of  the  great  majority  who  are  carried  off  their  feet 
to  the  forgetting  of  their  predeterminations,  I  venture 
to  offer  two  reasons  why  the  ambitious  youth  or  maiden, 
of  all  others,  should  have  a  helpmate. 

My  first  reason  is  this:  That  great  art,  in  its  very 
nature,  is  altruistic;  therefore  the  would-be  artist,  in 
whatever  Hne,  should  cultivate  the  altruistic  spirit.  He 
can   never  become   too   sympathetic    with   humanity, 

[218] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

too  fully  appreciative  of  the  points  of  view  that  lie  be- 
yond his  early  horizons.  Grant  that,  and  recall  that  a 
celibate  life  makes  for  selfishness,  whereas  matri- 
monial cares  develop  the  altruistic  spirit, — and  the 
question  as  to  whether  the  aspiring  enthusiast  should 
marry  answers  itself.  In  this  view,  it  is  self  evident  that 
his  own  spiritual  and  artistic  growth  demands  the  mould- 
ing influence  that  no  one  but  a  life-companion  can  give 
to  best  advantage. 

But  there  is  a  no  less  urgent  reason  of  a  more  per- 
sonal character.  It  is  found  in  the  fact  that  the  pleasure- 
seeker  of  to-day  will  not  always  retain  his  youth,  nor  his 
interest  in  the  same  pleasures.  Sufficient  unto  its  day 
are  the  pleasures  of  youth;  but  what  of  the  morrow? 
What  of  those  later  years  when  you  need  disinterested 
friendship  and  sympathetic  companionship? 

The  question  answers  itself;  and  if  it  did  not,  a  goodly 
proportion  of  the  seemingly  confirmed  celibates  answer 
it  in  due  course  by  finally  deciding,  perhaps  in  early 
middle-life,  to  join  the  ranks  of  Benedicts.  They 
do  well,  for  it  is  better  to  be  wise  late  than  never; 
yet  it  is  hardly  to  be  admitted  that  these  late  comers 
have  now  the  same  chance  for  happiness  that  they 
might  have  hoped  for  had  they  not  thrown  away  the 
opportunities  of  the  golden  years. 

To  be  sure  they  have  now  matured  that  judgment 
by  which  we  have  set  such  store ;  and  they  are  perhaps 
less  likely  to  be  carried  away  by  a  transient  passion, — 
albeit  the  famihar  verdict  "no  fool  like  an  old  fool" 
must  not  be  forgotten.  But  they  have  cultivated  an 
egoistic  view  of  life  throughout  those  formative  years; 

[219] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

day  by  day  they  have  grown  in  selfishness,  thinking 
first  and  foremost  of  their  own  individual  needs  and 
wishes;  and  these  habits  of  self-interest,  many  of 
them  incompatible  with  the  happiness  of  their  mar- 
riage partner,  cannot  readily  be  laid  aside.  Their  time 
of  plasticity,  of  receptivity,  is  past.  They  can  no  longer 
make  little  concessions  as  they  might  once  have  done, 
in  the  interests  of  harmony.  Temperamental  differ- 
ences cannot  now  be  harmonised  as  they  might  have 
been  at  an  earlier  age.  There  will  not  now  be  the 
opportunity  for  mutual  sjonpathy  through  meeting 
difficulties  shoulder  to  shoulder  as  there  would  have  been 
in  the  early  day  of  a  career  that  has  now  reached  secure 
business  goals.  And  so  matrimonial  disaster  may  come, 
as  the  sequel  to  what  might  have  been  a  happy  union 
had  it  been  consummated  earlier  in  life. 

All  in  all,  then,  it  would  appear  that  the  very  late 
marriage  as  little  solves  the  problem  as  the  very  early 
one,  and  we  are  forced  here  once  more  to  take  refuge  in 
that  safe  territory  of  the  happy  mean:  which,  being 
interpreted  in  set  terms,  perhaps  implies  that  the  secur- 
est age  for  marrying  lies  somewhere  in  the  twenties, — 
after  mind  and  body  are  approximately  mature,  but 
before  they  have  begun  to  fossilize. 

The  old  Greeks,  who  fixed  the  marriage  age  for  men 
at  twenty-five,  were  probably  as  near  the  mark  as  the 
nature  of  the  case  permits.  But  of  course  we  must  re- 
member, in  interpreting  such  a  rule  of  thumb,  that 
some  men  are  more  mature  at  twenty  than  others  at 
thirty. 

[  220  ] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

Then,  again,  the  practical  business  side  of  life  should 
be  a  governing  factor  in  determining  the  exact  time. 
The  man  who  enters  one  of  the  so-called  learned  pro- 
fessions, for  example,  will  generally  speaking  be  longer 
in  placing  his  feet  securely  on  the  financial  ladder  than 
the  youth  who  leaves  school  at  an  early  age  to  enter  a 
business  calling.  And  it  certainly  is  not  conducive  to 
happiness  for  any  one  to  marry  before  he  has  at  least  a 
fair  prospect  of  being  able  to  support  a  wife  in  a  manner 
decently  befitting  the  station  of  life  to  which  she  has  been 
accustomed.  The  cynical  proverb  which  declares  that 
when  Poverty  comes  in  at  the  door.  Love  flies  out  of  the 
window,  has  too  much  warrant  in  life-experience  to  be 
willfully  ignored. 

But  even  for  those  seemingly  favored  youth  for  whom 
financial  problems  have  been  solved  in  an  earlier  genera- 
tion, reasonable  delay  is  to  be  counseled,  before  en- 
tering on  the  road  that  has  no  legitimate  turning. 
The  man  who  did  not  have  a  fairly  adequate  sample  of 
the  varied  phases  of  bachelor  life,  is  sure  sooner  or 
later  to  feel  that  his  education  was  in  a  measure  neglected 
and  to  hanker  after  dangerous  experiments  to  make  up 
the  defect  at  some  later  period  of  life.  And  the  woman 
who  did  not  have  the  "fling"  of  a  normal  girlhood  wifl 
at  times  look  regretfufly  upon  that  stage  of  her  past, 
and  may  be  prone  to  indulge  a  fatal  yearning  to  see  the 
world  through  the  eyes  of  free  maidenhood  at  an  age 
when  the  guise  no  longer  becomes  her.  Human  nature 
is  curiously  uniform  at  base,  and  few  of  us  like  to  feel 
that  we  have  missed  normal  experiences  that  the  gener- 
ality of  our  fellows  have  found  alluring.     Certainly  in 

[221] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

so  important  a  matter  as  the  selection  of  a  life-compan- 
ion, every  one  would  like  to  feel,  in  looking  back  from 
the  vantage-ground  of  middle-life,  that  he  used  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  selective  judgment,  and  did  not  merely 
accept,  as  a  protozoon  might  do,  the  first  mate  that 
blind  chance  thrust  within  his  ken. 

Assuming  that  we  are  agreed  that  selection  of  a  life- 
companion  should  be  made  only  after  reasonable 
years  of  discretion  have  been  attained  (but  then  not  too 
long  deferred),  are  there  any  rules  or  principles  that  may 
supplement  the  normal  instincts  in  determining  a 
choice  ? 

Few  questions,  perhaps,  require  more  delicate  hand- 
ling than  that,  if  we  would  avoid  infringing  the  deep- 
seated  prejudices  of  our  fellows.  Time  out  of  mind,  in 
the  shifting  mythologies  of  many  nations.  Love  has 
held  secure  place  as  a  "divine"  passion;  and  the 
idealistic  literature  of  many  languages  has  fostered  the 
idea  that  hearts  held  under  the  spell  of  Cupid  are  ac- 
tuated by  impulses  deeper  and  purer  than  the  mandates 
of  reason.  There  are  those,  indeed,  who  would  ask 
us  to  believe  that  the  romantic  love  of  man  for  woman  is 
a  modern  endowment,  developed  out  of  the  chivalric 
customs  of  the  Middle  Ages.  But  no  one  who  is  fa- 
miliar with  the  classical  literature  of  Greece  and  Rome 
could  fall  prey  to  such  an  error.  The  words  of  the  an- 
cient poets  and  romancers,  no  less  than  those  of  the 
modern,  tell  of  that  intangible  spell  of  gossamer  that 
binds  hearts  as  with  cables  of  steel;  of  ideal  passions 
that  know  not  reason  and  brook  not  obstacles. 

[  222  ] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

Shall  the  cold  voice  of  science  strive  to  dictate  to 
this  old-world  passion?  Assuredly,  Yes.  The  pas- 
sion of  love  has  its  foundations  in  the  same  bodily  and 
mental  needs  that  afford  foundation  to  the  other  appe- 
tites, desires,  and  passions.  Nature  everyvi^here  sets 
the  model,  and  it  is  for  civiHzed  man,  in  proportion  to  his 
advancing  culture,  to  improve  upon  the  model.  Man 
got  on  very  well  for  numberless  generations  without 
rules  for  eating,  for  drinking,  for  exercising,  for  think- 
ing— and  remained  a  barbarian.  In  proportion  as  he 
came  to  apply  rules,  culled  from  the  school  of  expe- 
rience, he  became  civilized,  cultured,  intellectual,  moral. 
But  scarcely  in  any  other  field  has  he  allowed  the  prime- 
val instinct  to  hold  sway  so  little  influenced  by  the  rules 
of  organized  knowledge  as  in  this  all-essential  matter 
of  the  union  of  the  sexes. 

The  average  man  shows  less  intelHgence  in  selecting 
a  life-companion,  to  become  the  mother  of  his  children, 
than  the  average  breeder  shows  in  selecting  sires  and 
dams  for  his  herd  of  cattle,  his  drove  of  horses,  or  his 
flock  of  sheep.  And  as  for  the  average  woman — it  is 
scarcely  considered  modest  for  her  to  admit  that  she 
has  a  choice  until  she  has  been  singled  out  for  attention. 
Like  the  menial  at  the  banquet  of  a  king,  she  may  not 
speak  till  she  is  spoken  to. 

"The  world  is  getting  on  fairly  well  none  the  less," 
you  say?  But  is  it?  What  of  the  vast  army  of  un- 
fortunates making  up  the  "submerged  tenth"  of  our 
cities;  the  starving  thousands  and  underfed  millions; 
the  unemployed  and  those  unfit  to  seek  employment; 
the  criminals,  the  idiots,  the  insane  dependents;    the 

[223] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

maimed,  crippled,  congenitally  malformed  and  dis- 
eased; in  a  word,  that  great  galaxy  of  unfortunates, 
doomed  prenatally  to  be  a  burden  to  themselves  and  a 
menace  to  society, — whose  very  existence  is  a  reproach 
to  the  boasted  intelligence  of  our  race? 

When  we  reflect  that  these,  and  a  multitude  of  others, 
one  stage  removed  above  their  low  estate,  have  been 
fore-doomed  to  an  existence  of  misery  by  the  misjudg- 
ment  of  their  ancestors,  we  may  well  feel  disposed  to 
thrust  prudery  aside  for  the  nonce,  and  to  discuss  the 
subject  of  the  selection  of  a  marriage  partner  with  the 
same  frankness  with  which  we  approach  less  important 
subjects. 

First  of  all,  then,  let  us  strive  to  lay -the  ghost  of 
that  familiar  bugaboo,  which  evidences  itself  in  the 
world-old  delusion  that  each  human  soul  has  only  one 
companion  soul — one  only  "affinity" — which  it  needs 
must  find  in  order  to  attain  the  goal  of  happiness. 
If  such  were  indeed  the  fatal  fact,  what  possible  chance 
would  any  individual  have  of  finding  this  one  com- 
panion soul  among  all  the  world's  multitudes?  Ob- 
viously none ;  and  happy  marriages  would  be  rare  indeed. 
But  under  actual  conditions  the  case  is  far  different 
from  what  this  romantic  delusion  presupposes. 

Rest  assured  that  there  are  hundreds — or  if  you  pre- 
fer thousands  or  tens  of  thousands — of  persons  of  the 
opposite  sex  of  approximately  your  own  age,  in  any  one 
of  whom  you  might  find  a  suitable  and  congenial  life- 
companion.  Indeed,  the  fact  that  these  are  so  numer- 
ous supplies  the  one  greatest   danger  to  permanent 

[224] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

marital  felicity.  For  though  you  have  eyes  for  only  one 
to-day,  there  is  always  danger  that  a  second  may  come 
within  your  ken  to-morrow.  One  of  the  sternest  facts  , 
that  our  existing  marriage-system  has  to  face,  is  the  fact 
that  man  is  not  by  nature  a  monogamous  animal. 
It  is  the  greatest  triumph  of  mind  over  body  that  he 
has  become  so  nearly  monogamous  in  practise. 

Let  the  universal  experience  of  mankind  suffice, 
then,  to  lead  you  to  the  belief  that,  however  fervid 
your  admiration  for  any  particular  individual  of  the 
opposite  sex,  there  are  countless  others  to  whom  you 
might  be  just  as  ardently  attracted,  did  chance  throw 
them  in  your  way.  The  avowal  of  this  belief  would  not 
gain  you  additional  favor  in  the  eyes  of  your  sweet- 
heart, I  am  aware;  but  its  unavowed  recognition  may 
serve  as  a  safety  valve  to  your  ardor  and  a  balance  wheel 
to  your  judgment.  It  may  aid  you,  in  a  measure,  to 
escape  the  dangerous  thraldom  of  mere  physical 
charms,  and  to  consider  the  deeper  qualities  of  heart 
and  mind  that  are  not  always  linked  with  these  super- 
ficial adornments.  Beauty  is  more  than  skin  deep, 
but  the  eye  of  passion  tends  to  linger  at  the  surface. 

Or,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may  aid  you  in  a  sane 
attempt  to  reckon  with  undesirable  physical  traits, 
such  as  hereditary  disease  and  the  like,  and  to  weigh 
these  calmly  against  the  desirable  traits  of  mind  with 
which  their  victim  may  be  endowed.  In  a  word, 
the  calmer  the  judgment  brought  to  bear  on  the  selection 
of  a  life  companion,  the  purer  and  more  lasting  is 
likely  to  be  the  affection  that  married  life  will  accentuate 
and  develop.  And  assuredly  it  will  not  be  denied  that 
15  [225] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

marital  happiness  depends  more  upon  the  permanency 
than  upon  the  intensity  of  mutual  afifection. 

That  union  is  not  a  true  success  in  which  the  lovers 
do  not  feel,  after  say  fifteen  or  twenty  years  of  wedded 
association,  vastly  more  of  mutual  dependence,  mutual 
confidence,  mutual  love  in  the  broadest  and  best  sense 
of  the  word,  than  they  felt  when  they  went  to  the  mar- 
riage altar.  For  now,  after  these  years  of  association, 
it  is  no  longer  true  that  for  each  of  these  associates 
there  are  many  affinities  of  equal  value.  Now  it  has 
come  to  pass  that  the  years  of  mutual  dependence  have 
so  welded  and  blended  the  two  natures  into  mutual  har- 
mony that  each  is  the  one  and  best  affinity  for  the  other 
among  all  the  multitudes.  Now  is  the  dream  of 
the  ideahst,  the  vision  of  the  romancer,  justified. 
Now  may  we  with  reason  speak  of  the  two  lovers  as 
having  each  for  the  other  an  affinity  that  is  all-com- 
passing, all  compelling,  and  upon  the  continued  fruition 
of  which  the  best  chance  for  happiness  of  the  two  lives 
surely  depends. 

But  he  who  would  attain  this  consummation  must 
understand  that  the  time  for  the  use  of  mature  and 
sober  judgment  does  not  end  with  the  final  selection  of 
a  helpmate.  The  die  is  not  necessarily  cast  beyond 
recall  for  good  or  ill  when  the  marriage  ceremony  has 
been  consummated.  There  is  nothing  even  in  the  wisest 
selection  that  insures  against  possible  conjugal  disas- 
ter; and,  on  the  other  hand,  there  may  be  elements  of 
possible  success  even  in  a  very  unwise  choice.  In 
cither  case,  very  much  depends  upon  the  environing 

[226] 


LIFE   COMPANIONSHIP 

conditions,  and  the  attitude  of  mind  with  which  diffi- 
culties are  met. 

The  key  to  success  in  this  regard  is  to  be  found  in 
mutual  confidence.  The  greatest  success  anywhere  in 
life,  says  Emerson,  is  attained  through  "confidence 
and  a  perfect  understanding  between  sincere  people." 
Nowhere  else  is  this  truer  than  in  regard  to  the  rela- 
tions of  man  and  wife.  The  woman  whose  chief  hold 
upon  her  husband  is  the  magnetism  of  mere  physical 
beauty,  holds  him  by  a  chain  that  is  more  than  Kkely 
some  day  to  break.  Physical  passion  is  indeed  the 
most  powerful  of  magnets,  but  it  is  not  the  most  per- 
manent. The  true  cable  of  steel  between  heart  and 
heart  is  to  be  found  in  that  profounder  sentiment 
called  friendship, — albeit  physical  attraction  forms 
assuredly  one  important  strand  of  that  cable. 

Lose  no  time  then  in  establishing  with  your  con- 
jugal companion  those  bonds  of  confidential  sympathy 
that  are  the  only  secure  foundations  of  permanent  affec- 
tion, (^e  full  confidence  and  expect  it,  regarding 
your  past,  your^present,  and  your  hopes  for Lhe  future. 
Let  there  be  no  hesitancy  and  no_jreservation.  Be 
sedulous  in  your  efforts  to  appreciate  the  point  of  view! 
of  your  companion;  for  sympathy  the  human  soul 
must  have,  and  it  were  hazardous  indeed  to  have  this 
found  in  greater  measure  without  the  home  than  within 
its  portals.  Broaden  your  interests  to  include  the  tastes 
of  your  associate.  Strive  always  to  make  reasonable 
allowance  for  the  imperfectibiHty.  of  human  nature, 
and  to  remedy  your  own  faults  even  while  condoning  the 
faults  of  the  other. 

[227] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

And  so  it  may  come  to  pass  that  you  are  a  more  ardent 
lover  at  forty  than  you  were  at  twenty,  knowing  year 
by  year  in  fuller  measure  the  joys  of  a  companionship 
that  is  unique  in  its  pleasure-giving  power  among  the 
gifts  vouchsafed  to  human  kind. 


[228] 


Chapter    XIV 

THE  COMING  GENERATION 

"There  is  one  way  of  attaining  what  we  may  term  if  not 
utter  at  least  mortal  happiness;  it  is  this — a  sincere  and  un- 
relaxing  activity  for  the  happiness  of  others." 

— Bulwer  Lytton, 


"  Give  a  boy  address  and  accomplishments  and  you  give 
him  the  mastery  oi  palaces  and  fortunes  where  he  goes. 
He  has  not  the  trouble  of  earning  or  owning  them,  they  solicit 
him  to  enter  and  possess."  — Emerson. 


XIV 

THE    COMING    GENERATION 

WHATEVER  your  conjugal  felicities,  you  will 
not  have  tested  to  the  full  the  pleasures  of  the 
marital  state  unless  you  have  become  a  pa- 
rent ;  much  less  will  you  have  gained  its  fullest  benefits 
in  character-building.  Not  all  who  are  otherwise  fitted 
for  marriage  are  justified  in  assuming  the  responsibilities 
of  parentage,  to  be  sure.  Some  day,  I  opine,  our 
customs,  even  our  laws,  must  take  cognizance  of  that 
fact.  But  this  phase  of  the  subject  has  no  present  con- 
cern for  us.  We  cannot  here  consider  the  case  of  the 
man  or  woman  who,  because  of  some  constitutional  or 
mental  defect,  may  not  or  cannot  produce  offspring. 
Our  concern  is  with  the  fortunate  majority  who  are  not 
denied  that  privilege. 

I  use  the  word  privilege  advisedly,  but  let  us  not 
slur  the  fact  that  a  large  proportion  of  parents-to-be 
do  not  at  first  recognize  the  matter  in  that  light.  Par- 
enthood is  for  the  most  part  involuntary,  and  a  very 
large  number  of  young  married  couples  would  avoid  it  if 
they  could.  Many  of  them  rebel  against  it  while  it  is  in 
prospect,  regarding  it  as  intrusion  on  the  freedom  and 
the  happiness  of  their  lives.  But  this,  in  case  of  normal 
persons,  only  for  a  time.  Gradually  the  point  of  view 
shifts.  First  the  inevitable  is  accepted  grudgingly,  then 
welcomed  doubtfully.  Presently  nature  works  anew 
her  perennial  miracle  of  transformation.     Self  inter- 

[231] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

est  yields  tribute  to  the  mighty  instinct  of  race  preserva- 
tion. The  egoists  of  yesterday  have  become  altruists. 
Their  entire  point  of  view  has  changed.  Life  has  new- 
meanings  for  them.  Henceforth  there  are  pleasures  in 
store  for  them  that  transcend  all  pleasures  of  past 
experience.  Their  tastes,  predilections,  desires,  hitherto 
centered  on  themselves,  and  all-dominating,  are  hence- 
forth to  give  place — in  so  far  as  the  two  are  in  conflict 
— to  the  one  all -compassing  desire  for  the  welfare  of  their 
oflfspring. 

Deep  as  the  fountains  of  life  itself  is  this  parental 
instinct.  It  is  the  one  absolutely  altruistic  thing  in 
nature.  It  is  the  flower  of  the  soul, — beyond  all  com- 
parison the  most  beautiful  thing  in  the  world.  They 
that  have  not  breathed  its  perfume  know  not  and  can 
never  know  the  profoundest  joys  of  the  spirit.  Their 
cup  of  happiness  can  never  reach  the  brim.  Thank 
fortune  they  are  but  a  small  minority.  Their  one 
compensation  is  that  for  the  most  part  they  cannot  even 
glimpse  into  the  promised  land  beyond  the  confines  of 
their  egoistic  circle.  They  know  nothing  of  the  new 
horizons  visible  from  the  heights  of  parenthood. 

But  if  thus  we  signalize  the  joys  of  paternity,  let  us 
not  attempt  to  overlook  its  tremendous  responsibilities. 
Let  us  recognize  that  somewhat  in  proportion  as  these 
responsibilities  are  wisely  and  well  met  will  the  new 
generation  continue  to  be  a  source  of  pleasure  to  the  old. 
For  there  are  possibilities  of  bitter  sorrow  no  less  than 
of  transcendent  joy  in  the  relationship  of  parent  to  child. 
Which  shall  predominate,  is  a  question  that  may  largely 

[232] 


THE   COMING  GENERATION 

be  decided,  granted  average  conditions  of  heredity, 
by  the  training  that  the  child  is  given  during  those 
momentous  formative  years,  when  the  entire  organism 
no  less  than  the  brain  is  "wax  to  receive  and  marble 
to  retain." 

No  other  aspect,  then,  of  the  problem  of  happiness  is 
more  vitally  significant  than  the  question  of  the  parental 
influence  over  the  offspring.  "How  shall  I  rear  my 
child?"  is  a  question  that  for  the  wise  parent  takes 
precedence  over  every  other. 

Our  comment  on  so  broad  a  subject  must  of  necessity 
be  very  general,  or  else  confined  to  two  or  three  seeming 
essentials.  Whatever  relates  to  the  welfare  of  the  child 
at  whatever  stage  of  its  growth,  from  proper  cutting  of 
the  teeth  to  the  choosing  of  a  profession,  would  be  per- 
tinent enough  to  our  theme;  since  whatever  makes 
for  the  child's  betterment  as  to  body  or  mind  makes  for 
its  future  happiness  and  the  happiness  of  its  parents. 
But  for  obvious  reasons  I  may  not  follow  here  these 
various  stages  of  development,  even  were  I  desirous 
of  usurping  the  functions  of  nurse,  physician,  and  peda- 
gogue. 

There  is,  however,  one  profound  principle  of  action 
in  dealing  with  a  child,  which  covers  a  multitude  of  de- 
tails, and  which  is,  as  I  believe,  of  the  very  utmost 
importance,  yet  which  most  parents  ignore  or  wilfully 
controvert,  and  to  which,  therefore,  I  shall  chiefly  con- 
fine attention. 

The  fundamental  rule  of  action  that  I  have  in  mind 
is  this:  To  instill  into  the  child's  mind  the  inherent 
bias  for  honesty,  the  instinctive  sense  of  justice,  by 

[233] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

treating  it  always,  from  earliest  infancy,  with  scrupulous 
honesty  and  with  unswerving  fairness. 

Now  I  suppose  there  is  not  one  parent  in  a  hundred 
who  would  not  be  disposed,  on  hearing  this  principle 
thus  stated,  to  shrug  his  shoulders  and  say,  "Why, 
that  is  the  most  axiomatic  of  platitudes." 

Yet  I  affirm  with  much  confidence  that  by  no  means 
one  parent  in  a  hundred — even  confining  attention  to 
the  ranks  of  the  educated  and  intelligent — acts  on  the 
principle  in  question  with  even  approximate  consistency. 
And  common  experience  will,  I  think,  corroborate  the 
affirmation,  if  we  correctly  understand  our  terms. 

How  often  do  we  hear  a  parent  evading  the  question 
of  a  child,  or  answering  it  with  downright  falsehood 
on  the  plea  that  it  could  not  understand  the  truth,  or  that 
it  is  better  for  it  not  to  know  the  truth. 

And  again  how  often  do  we  see  the  fond  parent  en- 
gaged in  the  task  of  filling  the  infant  mind  with  fictitious 
ideas  about  bears  and  black  men,  and  fairies  and  gnomes 
of  sundry  varieties. 

At  a  later  day  the  process  of  unlearning  these  false- 
hoods must  be  a  main  feature  of  the  child's  education; 
the  apparitions  must  be  dethroned  from  their  position 
as  real  beings.  But  usually  these  creatures  of  fancy 
refuse  to  be  altogether  banished,  and  linger  throughout 
the  life  of  the  individual  as  shadowy  superstitions,  giving 
the  mind  a  bias  toward  belief  in  the  supernatural. 
Often  they  become  rehabilitated  in  the  mind  of  the 
adult,  and  accepted  once  more,  slightly  changed  in 
form,  as  realities.  Then  we  call  them  delusional  ideas, 
and  we  say  their  possessor  is  insane ;  but  we  are  prone 

[234] 


THE   COMING   GENERATION 

to  forget  that  these  same  delusion-s  were  the  mental 
pabulum  on  which  the  budding  mind  was  trained. 
Surely,  in  the  light  of  the  sequel,  such  training  might 
well  have  been  omitted. 

"But,"  you  say,  I  fancy  almost  in  horror,  "would 
you  take  away  from  the  child  all  those  delightful  myths 
that  have  entranced  children  for  untold  generations? 
Would  you  condemn  the  mind  of  the  child  to  a  barren 
world  of  fact?" 

To  the  first  inquiry,  I  reply  unqualifiedly,  Yes.  I 
would  banish  myths,  superstitions,  and  all  banishable 
falsehoods  from  the  world  of  the  child  forever. 

To  the  second  inquiry,  I  reply.  No,  I  would  not  con- 
fine the  mind  to  the  "barren"  realm  of  truth,  but  I 
would  confine  it  if  possible  to  the  wonderful,  beautiful, 
entrancing  realm  of  truth.  What  need  is  there  to 
seek  for  wonders  of  fairy  land  when  wonders  of  reality 
are  all  about  us  ?  The  whole  realm  of  nature  is  a  fairy 
land  of  fact.  The  budding  flower,  the  singing  bird, 
the  grass  beneath  our  feet,  the  very  ground — the  whole 
world  everywhere,  is  teeming  with  wonders,  with  mys- 
teries, with  bewildering  realms  for  the  exploration  of 
the  imagination. 

That  is  no  barren  realm  to  which  truth  invites.  The 
wonders  of  nature  may  be  made  as  alluring  to  the 
child  as  the  wonderful  untruths  of  myth  land.  With- 
out being  led  too  rapidly,  the  child's  mind  may  be  made 
to  imbibe  delightful  truths  that  it  need  not  later  un- 
learn. 

It  may  from  the  very  first  be  allowed  to  see  the  events 
of  Nature  as  they  occur  in  orderly,  natural  sequence, 

[235] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

thus  being  permitted  to  develop  its  reasoning  faculties 
un  warped. 

Its  eyes  may  be  trained  to  see  things  that  really  ex- 
ist; its  ears  to  hear  sounds  that  correspond  to  actual 
vibrations  about  it;  and  who  shall  doubt  that  such 
training  will  make  for  sanity  ? 

How  better  than  by  such  training  may  the  mind  be 
braced  against  the  intrusion  of  those  unreal  visions  that 
are  almost  always  the  precursors  of  mental  overthrow  ? 
The  mind  trained  thus  will  almost  beyond  peradventure 
become  imbued  with  a  spirit  of  healthful  scepticism  that 
will  challenge  every  new  sequence  of  events  presented 
to  it,  and  subject  conclusions  thrust  upon  it  to  the  test 
of  "clear,  cold  logic."  It  will  be  hard  indeed  to  foist 
a  delusional  idea  upon  such  a  mind;  and  delusional 
ideas  are  the  very  essence  of  insanity. 

As  regards  the  child's  more  studied  education,  you 
will  do  well  to  restrain  its  precocity — wherein  lies 
one  of  its  dangers— never  doubting  that  in  so  doing  you 
are  making  for  the  final  development  and  stability  of 
its  mental  structure.  To  this  end,  and  for  many 
reasons,  it  is  desirable  that  the  child  should  be  much  in 
the  company  of  children  of  its  own  age.  Hence  the 
public  school  has  for  such  a  child  a  large  advantage 
over  home  training.  Contact  with  many  normal 
minds  in  the  class-room,  and  normal  bodies  on  the  play- 
ground tends  most  helpfully  to  teach  the  child  its  true 
status  in  relations  to  its  fellows;  repressing  that  egoism 
which  is  one  of  its  most  dangerous  tendencies. 

You  will  do  well  to  restrain  further  the  egoism  of 

[236] 


THE   COMING   GENERATION 

the  child  by  the  avoidance  of  injudicious  and  indiscrim- 
inate praise ;  yet  the  hungering  mind  should  not  be  em- 
bittered by  the  absence  of  judiciously  worded  and  sym- 
pathetic approval.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  the  premium  is 
on  the  happy  mean. 

You  will  do  well  to  inculcate  such  persistency  of 
application  as  leads  to  true  volitional  strength.  Teach 
the  child  to  restrain  and  control  its  emotions,  and  on 
no  account  deceive  yourself  by  supposing,  as  so  many 
parents  do,  that  outbursts  of  stubborn  temper  are 
evidence  of  "will  power."  In  point  of  fact,  they  show 
an  opposite  state.  It  is  the  weak  will  that  attempts  to 
bolster  itself  with  bluster  and  bombast. 

It  is  really  astonishing  how  parents  and  others  can 
deceive  themselves  as  to  the  true  character  of  the  mental 
traits  of  those  dear  to  them.  I  saw  recently  a  neurotic 
girl  of  sixteen,  in  the  typical  condition  of  that  period, — 
hysteria, — who  lay  in  bed  month  after  month  and  ex- 
cept when  her  attention  was  diverted  kept  her  muscles 
in  a  state  of  persistent  spasmodic  twitching.  She  de- 
clared herself  absolutely  unable  to  arise,  yet  she  looked 
the  picture  of  health,  and  in  reality  was  physically  ca- 
pable of  almost  any  exertion.  Had  she  possessed  but  a 
modicum  of  the  will  power  with  which  ordinary  people 
are  endowed,  she  would  have  arisen  and  gone  about 
the  affairs  of  every-day  life  in  the  e very-day  fashion. 
Yet  her  mother,  totally  unconscious  of  the  true  state 
of  affairs,  said  to  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  "Ah,  doc- 
tor, it  is  perfectly  wonderful  the  way  that  poor  girl 
holds  out.  See  how  she  controls  herself!  She  could 
never  have  stood  this  had  she  not  had  a  strong  will." 

[237] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

Perhaps  it  will  not  be  amiss,  in  this  day  of  nervous 
disorders,  if  I  say  a  few  words  more  specifically  about 
the  home  training  of  the  child  whose  ''nervous"  tem- 
perament places  it  in  danger  of  some  such  unfortunate 
culmination  as  that  just  outlined. 

For  obvious  reasons,  great  heed  should  be  given  to 
hygienic  measures,  looking  to  the  physical  development 
of  such  a  child.  Its  dietary  should  be  made  to  include 
nutritious  foods,  to  the  restriction  of  the  appetite-cloying 
sweets  and  other  unwholesome  things  its  own  taste 
would  select.  Stimulants  of  every  kind,  including  tea, 
coffee,  and  spices,  should  be  absolutely  interdicted. 
Systematic  effort  should  be  made  to  secure  for  such  a 
child  the  exercise  which  the  normal  child  gains  un- 
thinkingly in  its  games;  for  if  left  to  itself,  the  nervous 
child  often  prefers  to  brood  rather  than  play.  And 
above  all,  good  habits  of  sleeping  should  be  inculcated 
from  the  first,  for  in  later  life  insomnia  is  the  peren- 
nial curse  of  the  nervous  temperament. 

But  the  details  as  to  all  these  things  must  vary  with 
individual  cases,  and  should  be  entrusted  to  the  family 
physician.  Indeed,  the  entire  education  of  the  ner- 
vous child  should  be  accomplished  under  medical  super- 
vision, even  though,  as  is  quite  commonly  the  case,  the 
child  is  but  little  subject  to  attacks  of  acute  illness,  and 
is  generally  regarded  as  having  more  than  average 
health. 

In  a  word,  an  unceasing  effort  should  be  made  to 
mould  the  mind  of  the  nervous  child  toward  the  model 
set  by  the  average  mind  of  the  average  child, — the  only 
normal  standard.     And  let  me  again  urge  that  this 

[238] 


THE   COMING  GENERATION 

effort  cannot  be  commenced  too  early.  In  infancy, 
the  web  for  the  woof  of  mind  begins  to  be  woven  and 
what  is  then  done  can  never  be  altogether  undone.  I 
could  point  you  instances  where  a  child  of  three  years 
has  had  stamped  on  its  brain  the  tendency  to  depraved 
habits  of  activity  that  have  been  the  bane  of  the  life  of 
the  individual  as  long  as  he  lived.  And  it  is  beyond 
question  that  the  mind  of  every  child  is  similarly 
stamped  with  many  a  tendency  that  tells  for  good  or 
evil  all  its  life,  during  those  earlier  years  when  it  is 
commonly  supposed  to  be  hardly  a  conscious  personality. 

The  child's  observant  eye  drinks  in  every  sight;  its 
quick  ear  nurtures  every  sound ;  and  its  mind  develops 
ideas  and  interpretations  long  before  its  tongue  could 
give  words  to  its  verdict.  Conscious  memory  does  not 
carry  the  adult  back  to  that  period,  but  beyond  the 
depths  of  memory,  the  indelible  record  is  there,  and 
the  man  of  fifty  owes  his  personality  in  no  small  measure 
to  the  influences  that  surrounded  his  cradle.  The 
warp  of  heredity  and  the  woof  of  early  training  remain 
to  the  end  as  the  foundation  structures  of  every  mind, 
however  much  the  texture  may  be  frayed,  the  colors 
obscured  or  blended  by  later  experiences.  When  I 
reflect  on  this,  and  then  witness  the  mental  treatment 
that  the  average  child  receives  from  the  average  parent, 
I  marvel  that  our  race  gets  on  even  as  well  as  it  does. 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  we  must  not  forget  that  even 
the  worst  home  is  better  than  no  home  at  all, — better, 
for  example,  than  the  best  public  institution  for  child- 
raising,  as  the  societies  for  Child  Saving  are  always 
informing  us.     Even  the  most  selfish  persons  show  an 

[239] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

amazing  development  of  the  altruistic  impulse  in  dealing 
with  their  offspring.  If  the  effort  is  often  misdirected, 
to  the  detriment  of  the  recipient,  we  must  at  least  ad- 
mit that  the  good  intention  counts  for  much.  Meantime 
the  observer,  seeing  the  heights  of  self-sacrifice  to 
which  the  average  parent  will  rise,  has  his  confidence 
perennially  fortified  as  to  the  possibilities  of  human 
nature.  With  such  material  to  work  upon,  we  need 
not  doubt  that  in  due  time  the  average  parent  may  be 
taught  to  rear  his  or  her  children  rationally  as  well  as 
lovingly.  Nor  can  we  doubt  that  such  rationahty  will 
make  for  the  happiness  of  both  parents  and  offspring,  as 
well  as  for  the  betterment  of  humanity  in  general. 


[240] 


Chapter    XV 
HOW  TO  INVITE  HAPPINESS 

"It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live  after  the  world's  opinions; 
it  is  easy  in  solitude  to  live  after  our  own ;  but  the  great  man 
is  he  who  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd  keeps  with  perfect  sweet- 
ness the  independence  of  solitude."  — Emerson. 


"The  wise  man  will  not  sin,  though  both  gods  and  men 
should  overlook  the  deed,  for  it  is  not  through  the  fear  of 
punishment  or  of  death  that  we  abstain  from  sin.  It  is 
from  the  desire  and  obligation  of  what  is  just  and  good." 

— Peregrinos. 


4 


XV 


HOW  TO  INVITE  HAPPINESS 

HOW  to  invite  happiness?  But,  you  say,  each 
succeeding  chapter  of  our  work  has  dealt 
with  one  or  another  phase  of  that  question. 
Quite  true:  but  because  of  the  specific  text  of  each  of 
those  chapters  there  were  numerous  ancillary  channels 
of  thought  which  we  did  not  enter,  or,  if  entering,  did 
not  sufficiently  explore.  Some  of  these  may  now  claim 
attention  in  a  chapter  of  general  import — under  a 
caption  that  imposes  no  Hmitations. 

Then,  again,  there  are  fields  lying  quite  beyond  the 
pale  of  our  previous  inquiries  which  we  must  not  ignore. 
It  is  not  enough  that  a  man  or  woman  should  become  a 
good  observer  with  a  clear-cut  memory;  should  learn 
to  think  clearly;  should  attain  good  physical  develop- 
ment and  fair  bodily  health  through  attention  to  hygiene ; 
should  succeed  in  business,  marry  well,  and  rear  a 
family  of  wholesome  children; — all  this,  I  say,  is  not 
enough  to  insure  happiness,  though  of  a  truth  this  list 
of  achievements  must  form  a  fine  foundation  on  which 
to  ground  a  happy  life. 

Suppose,  for  example,  that  a  man  of  whom  all  these 
things  are  true,  should  come  to  feel,  as  he  goes  down  the 
slope  of  the  years,  that  his  success  in  business  has  not 
carried  him  along  the  lines  that  he  would  now  wish  to 
have  followed.  Suppose  he  feels  that  he  has  all  along 
pursued  false  ideals;  has  gone  in  an  opposite  direction 

[243] 


THE   SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

from  that  which  he  would  undertake  were  he  to  live  his 
life  over  again.  Then,  surely,  all  the  pleasure  that 
might  come  from  success  is  tinctured  and  in  part  neu- 
tralised by  the  bitterness  of  futile  regret. 

Suppose  that  our  healthy  and  successful  man  of 
family  finds  himself  practically  without  friends  of  similar 
tastes,  inchnations,  and  sympathies  to  his  own;  while 
his  lifelong  attitude  of  mind  has  made  him  a  discon- 
tented pessimist,  wont  to  minimise  the  virtues  and 
magnify  the  blessings  of  his  neighbors.  Such  a  man, 
though  seemingly  surrounded  with  the  good  things  of 
life,  knows  not  how  to  enjoy  them.  He  cannot  lay  his 
hand  on  the  key  to  the  domain  of  happiness,  though  he 
be  able  to  purchase  every  tangible  luxury.  If  he  seem 
to  secure  the  form,  he  still  lacks  the  substance. 

For,  as  it  chances,  the  substance  of  true  happiness, 
is  for  the  most  part  made  up  of  filmy  abstractions — of 
ideas  rather  than  of  things;  of  friendship  with  our 
fellow-beings;  the  approbation  of  our  kind;  love  of 
family;  appreciation  of  the  beauties  of  Nature  and  of 
art,  literature,  music,  and  the  hke.  Honesty,  honor, 
virtue,  sympathy,  conscience — all  these  are  abstrac- 
tions, yet  all  have  their  place  among  the  social  neces- 
sities. A  world  without  them  would  be  the  world  of 
brute  or  savage.  It  would  not  be  a  happy  world  in 
the  modern  interpretation  of  the  word. 

Hence  it  is  that  physical  well-being  and  sensual 
pleasures  are  not  enough.  They  play  their  part,  and 
a  most  important  part,  but  they  are  not  the  all  in  all. 
Even  physical  beauty  depends  in  no  small  measure  upon 
the  profounder  attributes  of  mind.    A  cheerful  dis- 

[244] 


HOW  TO   INVITE   HAPPINESS 

position  and  a  sympathetic  spirit  can  mould  the  features 
and  hght  up  the  countenance  in  a  manner  that  no 
external  cosmetic  can  rival.  It  is  scarcely  too  much  to 
say  that  every  thought  writes  its  tell-tale  lines  on  the 
face,  that  all  the  world  may  at  a  glance  read  the  record  of 
a  life. 

Witness,  as  extreme  cases,  the  vacuous  face  of  the 
idiot  or  of  the  hopelessly  insane  or  the  hardened  visage 
of  the  habitual  criminal,  as  contrasted,  in  different 
directions,  with  the  shrewd  profile  of  the  business 
magnate  or  the  serenely  placid  countenance  of  the  philos- 
opher. 

Not  all  faces,  to  be  sure,  present  so  distinctive  a 
mask,  for  most  faces  give  the  record  of  strangely  com- 
posite lives.  Yet  in  the  main  the  balance  for  good  or 
ill  is  struck  and  recorded  there;  and  what  is  more,  the 
popular  reading  of  that  record  is  usually  correct. 
Individuals  may  make  mistaken  interpretations,  but 
the  aggregate  verdict  of  a  man's  associates  seldom  does 
injustice  to  his  true  personality. 

It  behooves  us  then  to  give  heed  to  the  intangibles,  to 
the  abstractions,  to  the  phases  of  success  in  life  that 
are  not  concerned  with  externals  and  business  practical- 
ities. 

First  and  foremost  there  is  the  matter  of  tempera- 
ment— of  individual  bias.  This  enters  into  the  problem 
both  as  determining  the  nature  of  happiness  for  the  in- 
dividual and  as  influencing  his  capacity  for  enjoyment. 
"Happiness  is  a  matter  of  opinion,  of  fancy  in  fact," 
says  Chamfort;  "but  it  must  amount  to  conviction,  else 

[245] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

it  is  nothing."  That  is  to  say,  there  is  no  such  thing 
as  unconscious  happiness.  If  you  do  not  think 
yourself  happy,  you  are  not  happy.  The  state  of  hap- 
piness is  essentially  .subjective.  All  the  external  con- 
ditions may  seem  favorable,  yet  the  individual  may  be 
miserable  in  mind.  Some  persons  are  so  constituted 
that  they  repel  happiness;  their  attitude  of  mind  seems 
antagonistic  to  it.  They  envy  it  in  others,  but  for  them- 
selves they  cannot  grasp  it. 

Cultivate  yourself  away  from  this  unfortunate  atti- 
tude of  mind.  Train  your  children  away  from  it. 
Strive  to  remember  the  blessings  and  to  forget  the 
woes  of  the  past.  Look  on  the  bright  side.  Cultivate 
the  belief  that  on  the  whole  this  is  a  pretty  good  world. 
Some  days  must  indeed  be  "dark  and  dreary"  for  all 
of  us;  but  most  evils  have  their  compensations.  Search 
for  these  rather  than  brood  over  your  ills.  Strain  your 
eyes  to  see  that  proverbial  silver  lining.  It  is  amazing 
how  much  you  can  brighten  your  lot  by  merely  "mak- 
ing the  best  of  it." 

I  know  a  mother  who  has  an  invariable  formula  for 
the  correction  of  her  children  when  they  are  cross.  She 
tells  them  to  "say  cabbage."  The  very  absurdity  of  this 
meaningless  phrase  causes  the  child  to  smile  through 
its  tears  or  frowns,  in  spite  of  itself.  Many  an  adult 
might  learn  to  use  the  phrase  to  his  great  advantage. 
When  you  feel  "in  the  dumps,"  out  of  sorts,  disgruntled 
with  life,  angry  with  the  world — say  "cabbage!"  Take 
on  an  aspect  of  cheerfulness.  Hold  your  head  erect. 
Quicken  your  pace.  Manufacture  a  smile,  as  a  good 
fighter  does  when  he  is  hit  and  hurt. 

[246] 


HOW  TO   INVITE   HAPPINESS 

Such  attitudinizing — posing  if  you  will — reacts  upon 
the  mind  and  tends  to  make  for  betterment  of  tempera- 
ment. If  you  can  smile  when  you  are  hurt,  the  pain  is 
lessened.  The  outward  show  of  fortitude  will  develop 
inward  courage.  And  courage  in  itself  is  often  the 
open  sesame  to  the  domain  of  happiness.  It  used  to  be 
-said  that  John  L.  SulHvan,  the  famous  pugilist,  won 
half  his  battles  before  he  had  struck  a  blow,  by  the  as- 
pect of  confidence  that  he  presented  as  he  advanced 
against  his  antagonist.  Similarly  George  Bothner,  the 
invincible  light-weight  wrestler,  when  he  meets  a  heavier 
competitor,  evinces  his  own  confidence  and  tends  to 
dishearten  his  adversary  by  repeating  smilingly:  "Oh 
yes,  you  are  big;  but  I've  thrown  many  a  bigger  man 
than  you.  You  big  ones  lack  heart;  just  wait  and  see 
how  easily  I  shall  beat  you."  Of  course  muscle  and 
skill  back  up  the  confidence  in  these  cases;  but  the 
courage  in  itself  is  an  invaluable  asset.  If  you  can 
learn  to  meet  a  frowning  world  with  a  mien  of  like  con- 
fidence, you  will  find  your  strength  amplified  and  the 
obstacles  weakened. 

In  all  this,  it  will  be  observed,  I  am  speaking  of  at- 
titudes of  body  no  less  than  of  attitudes  of  mind, — 
the  two  being  correlatives.  The  magic  word  here  is 
Action.  The  distraught  man  cannot  banish  worriment 
by  saying,  "I  will  be  cheerful."  That  would  be  lifting 
oneself  by  one's  boot-tops.  To  think  about  being 
cheerful,  even  to  talk  about  it,  is  often  no  less  futile. 
The  real  remedy  is  to  get  up  and  go  somewhere.  Put 
yourself  among  people  who  know  nothing  of,  care 
nothing  for,  your  ills.     Let  contact  with  them  divert 

[  247  ] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

your  mind  into  new  channels.  Tell  a  humorous  story, 
and  laugh  at  the  stories  of  others. 

But  this  after  all  is  only  tentative.  You  must  go 
farther.  You  must  cultivate  the  habit  of  cheerfulness 
as  a  mental  attitude.  Remember  that  worry  kills — 
not  work.  You  must  get  away  from  the  habit  of  worry- 
ing if  you  would  not  live  a  life  of  misery  and  grow 
prematurely  old. 

But  how  ? 

By  an  all-round  perfectionment  of  character, — a 
building  up  of  temperament  along  the  lines  of  fairness, 
unselfishness,  high  ideals.  But  most  of  all,  perhaps, 
by  the  cultivation  of  courage.  Courage,  to  be  sure, 
depends  to  a  certain  extent  upon  the  circulation  of  the 
blood, — literally  upon  a  strong  heart;  so  mere  physical 
development  helps  to  secure  it.  But  this  is  only  a 
beginning.  There  is  moral  courage  that  transcends 
the  physical;  which  latter,  indeed,  may  often  be  con- 
founded with  bravado.  Moral  courage  also  is  doubt- 
less in  a  measure  a  matter  of  inheritance ;  but  it  is  sus- 
ceptible of  great  development. 

Some  one  has  said  that  courage  consists  in  having 
done  the  thing  before.  There  is  a  world  of  truth  in 
that  practical  view.  General  Grant  has  told  us  how 
frightened  he  was  on  entering  his  first  battle.  The  stage 
fright  of  the  beginner  is  proverbial.  But  if  you  meet 
your  first  difficulties  with  bold  face,  even  though  the 
heart  is  sinking,  you  help  yourself  over  the  momentary 
obstacle  and  prepare  yourself  to  banish  like  difficulties 
in  future. 

This  applies  not  merely  to  the  great  trials  of  life,  but 

[248J 


HOW  TO  INVITE  HAPPINESS 

to  the  little  disagreeable  tasks  of  every  day.  If  you  are 
accustomed  from  childhood  to  meet  these  half  way; 
to  face  them  squarely  instead  of  shirking  them,  you 
are  training  in  the  best  possible  school  for  the  devel- 
opment of  courage.  The  great  trials  when  they  come 
to  us  are  usually  unavoidable;  and  just  because  they 
are  unavoidable,  most  of  us  meet  them  with  a  certain 
fortitude.  The  weakest  animal  fights  when  pressed 
into  a  corner.  The  timidest  man  may  go  into  battle, 
under  stress  of  excitement,  without  fear.  The  most 
abject  criminal  may  go  to  the  scaffold  with  a  show 
of  unconcern. 

But  this  is  fortitude,  not  courage.  The  two  are  not 
altogether  alien;  but  true  courage  is  a  trait  of  rarer 
quality  and  one  that  maybe  proved  by  more  delicate  tests. 
It  finds  exposition  in  the  little  affairs  of  every-day  life ; 
while  at  the  same  time  its  exercise  in  small  affairs  is 
preparation  for  its  application  to  greater  trials.  Success 
or  failure  in  practical  life  hangs  perpetually  in  the 
balance  of  courage  as  thus  tested  and  developed.  But 
even  short  of  this  the  cultivation  of  courage  is  one  of  the 
most  direct  and  tangible  aids  in  pleasure-seeking;  for 
worriment  and  fear  are  the  perennial  banes  to  happi- 
nesss,  and  courage  is  their  standard  antidote. 

Such  development  of  self-control  and  self-reliance 
as  is  here  enjoined,  however,  must  obviously  constitute, 
after  all,  only  a  negative  appeal  for  happiness,  through 
the  banishment  of  anxiety,  worriment,  and  mental  dis- 
quietude. It  remains  to  be  pointed  out,  however,  that 
the  receptiveness  to  enjoyment,  and  therefore  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  greatly  enhanced  sum-total  of  happiness 

[249] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

in  the  case  of  any  individual,  may  be  almost  indefi- 
nitely cultivated  through  direct  stimulation  and  de- 
velopment of  the  aesthetic  or  emotional  nature, — pro- 
vided alvi^ays  that  such  development  is  carried  out 
sanely  and  temperately,  not  with  hysterical  over- 
enthusiasm  and  sentimentality. 

In  proportion  as  the  appreciation  of  things  artistic 
— the  aesthetic  sense — is  developed,  man  becomes 
capable  of  experiencing  the  most  intense  pleasure 
through  the  mere  contemplation  of  natural  phenomena, 
the  observation  of  which  leaves  the  uncultured  mind 
absolutely  unmoved.  The  trained  eye  roves  a  land- 
scape, and  the  observer  has  no  thought  of  self — he  is 
lost  in  contemplation;  yet  a  sense  of  pleasure  suffuses 
his  whole  personaHty;  he  is  obKvious  of  time  and  place; 
he  makes  no  egoistic  comparisons,  is  for  the  time  being 
scarcely  conscious  of  his  own  personality;  yet  the  up- 
lift of,  so-to-say,  impersonal  emotion  pervades  his 
entire  being. 

Of  closely  similar  character  is  the  emotional  upH£t 
which  the  cultured  mind  experiences  through  scan- 
ning the  cadenced  words  of  a  poem  or  through  listen- 
ing to  the  soul-compelling  rhythm  of  music.  In  the 
same  category,  too,  arc  the  emotions  associated  with 
the  turning  inward  of  the  mental  vision,  not  toward 
the  Ego  as  such,  but  across  the  broad  fields  of  abstract 
reasoning. 

The  cultivation  of  such  inward  visions  enables  the 
person  of  developed  artistic  and  philosophical  tempera- 
ment to  transcend  in  considerable  measure  his  seem- 
ing physical  limitations.    That  it  is  possible  thus  to 

[250] 


HOW  TO  INVITE   HAPPINESS 

"rise  above"  the  pleasure-dispelling  influences  of  minor 
ills  is  matter  of  everyday  experience.  And  the  amount 
of  self-effacement  attainable  grows  in  proportion  to 
the  strength  and  concentration  of  the  mental  action. 
The  man  of  great  reasoning  power,  when  solving  some 
profound  problem,  becomes  notoriously  obKvious  of 
his  surroundings — ''absent-minded"  as  the  saying  is; 
a  curious  paradox  by  the  bye,  since  the  mind  is  never 
elsewhere  so  preponderantly  present. 

When  the  philosopher  is  under  the  spell  of  such  a 
mental  exercise,  even  so  dominant  an  appeal  as  the 
bodily  need  of  food  fails  to  reach  his  conscious  Ego. 
A  Newton  forgets  to  eat  when  the  food  is  brought  to 
him,  a  Descartes  sits  for  hours  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
half  dressed,  forgetting  to  complete  his  toilet,  his  mind 
in  the  clouds.  Archimedes,  intent  upon  his  problem, 
heeds  not  the  presence  of  the  soldier  who  has  come  to 
take  his  life. 

But  while  intense  mental  action  thus  seems  to  raise 
the  actor  above  the  plane  of  the  emotions,  it  must  not 
be  overlooked  that  these  are  ever  near-at-hand.  Every 
form  of  constructive  mental  activity  is  accompanied 
by  a  certain  sense  of  satisfaction,  and  the  self-elimina- 
tion of  great  mental  effort  may  be  associated  with  a 
sense  of  well-being  that  rises  to  the  heights  of  ecstacy. 
So  by  another  of  those  paradoxes  that  greet  us  every- 
where in  nature,  it  appears  that  the  intending  of  the 
mind  away  from  the  Ego  leads  us  finally  in  a  circle 
back  to  the  Ego:  the  attempt  to  attain  self-forgetful- 
ness  through  cultivation  of  objectivity  of  mind,  leads 
in  the  end  to  the  highest  heights  of  egoistic  happiness. 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

Obviously,  then,  the  development  of  the  mind  along 
aesthetic  and  philosophical  lines  may  serve  on  the  one 
hand  to  effect  a  direct  enhancement  of  the  opportuni- 
ties for  happiness,  and  on  the  other  as  a  warder  off 
of  ills.  So,  clearly  enough,  it  is  the  part  of  wisdom  to 
cultivate  such  mental  and  emotional  development  as 
will  facilitate  these  ends.  Learn  to  see  the  picture  in 
the  landscape,  and  so  develop  mental  pictures  that  can 
be  carried  everywhere.  Strive  on  occasions  to  direct 
the  inward  eye  along  by-paths  of  the  mind  that  lead 
toward  no  practical  result  but  only  toward  the  solution 
of  abstract  problems  of  what  the  old  Greeks  called 
"being  and  becoming." 

In  other  words,  permit  yourself,  on  occasion,  to 
practise  the  invocation  of  visions  and  the  dreaming  of 
dreams. 

Does  this  seem  antagonistic  to  what  I  have  said  in 
previous  chapters  about  keeping  one's  feet  on  the 
ground?  There  is  no  real  contradiction.  The  most 
practical  man  may  be  also  the  most  pronounced  ideal- 
ist ;  just  as  the  best  worker  may  be  also  the  best  player. 
In  the  final  analysis,  idealism  and  materialism  may  be 
reduced  to  the  same  terms.  They  are  but  two  sides  of 
the  same  shield. 

"When  I  have  lain  on  the  ground  for  days  and 
looked  into  the  clouds,"  says  Taine,  speaking  of  Words- 
worth's "Ode  on  the  Intimations  of  Immortality,"  "I 
shall  love  this  poetry."  The  critic  spoke  sarcastically, 
but  there  was  better  reason  than  he  knew  in  his  words. 
Well  might  it  be  wished  that  every  seeker  of  happiness 
should  now  and  again  find  time  to  "lie  on  the  ground 

[252] 


HOW  TO   INVITE   HAPPINESS 

and  look  into  the  clouds"  for  a  space  in  a  receptive 
mood,  ''inviting  his  soul."  Only  let  him  remember 
that  this  is  a  pastime  for  the  holiday,  the  vacation  time, 
not  the  business  of  everyday  life.  Confidently  may  he 
expect  that  the  cloud-forms  bodying  forth  into  pictures 
of  the  imagination  will  invite  and  point  the  way  to 
new  possibihties  of  enjoyment  such  as  no  development 
of  the  merely  physical  or  even  of  the  merely  intellectual 
sense  of  well-being  could  bring  to  him.  For  now  to 
the  fully  developed  body,  the  well-trained  thinking 
mind,  has  been  added  the  soul  of  artistic,  of  spiritual 
susceptibility,  sanely  quaKfied,  yet  attuned  to  the 
''music  of  the  spheres"  with  well-nigh  infinite  possi- 
bilities of  response. 

The  aesthetic  pleasures  of  a  nature  thus  developed 
transcend  the  pleasures  of  the  average  personality  as 
widely  as  the  intellect  of  a  Plato  or  a  Spencer  transcends 
the  intellect  of  a  Stone- Age  barbarian. 

As  I  reflect  on  the  possibilities  thus  open  to  the 
generality  of  cultured  minds, — possibilities  that  for  the 
most  part  will  never  become  realities, — I  am  led  to 
recall  an  address  that  I  heard  once  many  years  ago. 
The  speaker  was  the  late  Professor  Swing,  his  theme 
the  possibilities  of  mental  and  spiritual  culture.  The 
words  of  his  peroration  ring  in  my  ears  as  if  I  had 
heard  them  yesterday: 

"Chmb  the  heights,"  he  cried,  in  tones  that  as  I 
recall  them  were  soft  and  melodious  yet  clear  and 
penetrating  as  a  bugle-call.  "Climb  the  heights,  and 
when  you  have  reached  the  top  look  down  upon  the 
world  asleep  amidst  beautiful  and  fragrant  flowers." 

[253] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

And  so,  interpreting  and  slightly  expanding  the 
words  of  the  great  preacher,  I  say  to  you :  If  you  would 
find  full  joy  in  living,  you  may  well  aspire  to  climb  the 
intellectual,  the  aesthetic,  the  philosophical  heights. 
Before  you  have  gone  far  up  the  slope  you  will  find 
yourself  breathing  a  purer  air  than  that  of  the  valleys; 
you  will  feel  the  exultation  that  comes  with  the  recog- 
nition of  ever-widening  horizons.  And  from  your 
joyously  attained  coign  of  vantage  you  may  look  back 
with  ever-increasing  elation — yet  never,  I  trust,  with- 
out sympathetic  pity — on  the  masses  of  your  sometime 
associates,  blindly  groping  there  into  illusory  by-paths 
of  evanescent  pleasure  and  wilfully  or  ignorantly  shun- 
ning the  broad  and  inviting,  even  if  steeper,  highways 
that  might  open  to  them  vistas  of  profounder  and 
more  abiding  happiness. 


[254] 


Chapter  XVI 

HOW  TO   DIE 

"The  care  to  live  well  is  identical  with  the  care  to  die  well." 

— Epictetus. 


"  There  is  great  reason  to  hope  that  death  is  a  good." 

— Socrates. 

"  No  evil  can  happen  to  a  good  man,  either  in  hfe  or  after 
death."  — Socrates. 


"  There  is  a  child  within  us  to  whom  death  is  a  sort  of  hob- 
goblin; him  too  we  must  persuade  not  to  be  afraid  when  he  is 
alone  with  him  in  the  dark."  — Plato. 


XVI 

HOW  TO  DIE 

ALL  living  is  but  a  preparation  for  dying. 
That  is  the  thought  which  the  universal  ex- 
perience of  mankind  forces  upon  us,  how- 
ever unwillingly  we  may  receive  it.  It  is  the  one  point 
upon  which  all  philosophies,  whatever  their  ulterior 
bearings,  seem  to  be  agreed.  Whether  or  not  it  lead 
you  to  follow  the  light-hearted  injunction  of  the  old 
Hebrew  to  "eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,"  as  least  you 
cannot  escape  the  inexorable  logic  of  his  assertion  that 
"to-morrow  you  may  die."  The  one  great  certainty 
of  life  is  the  manner  of  its  ending.  Sooner  or  later  the 
mystery  of  death  will  crown  the  mystery  of  living. 

Doubtless  this  certainty — which  can  never  seem 
other  than  stupendous  to  the  individual,  regardless  of 
his  creed — has  been  of  greater  force  in  determining 
the  activities  and  the  beliefs  of  men  than  has  any  posi- 
tive fact  of  the  term  of  living.  By  some  philosophies  it 
has  been  regarded  as  a  curse,  by  others  heralded  as  a 
blessing.  By  some  death  has  been  regarded  as  the  end 
of  life,  by  others  as  the  beginning  of  a  new  life-cycle. 
Sure  though  it  be  sooner  or  later  to  claim  every  mortal, 
yet  to  brave  its  imminence  and  openly  to  challenge  it  in 
the  present  has,  in  all  ages,  been  regarded  as  the  final 
test  of  courage.  Rare  indeed  in  any  generation  or 
among  the  votaries  of  any  faith  have  been  the  individuals 
who  have  not  at  some  periods  of  their  lives  shrunk 
17  [257] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

from  the  thought  of  death — as  the  grim  spectre  threat- 
ened themselves  or  their  dear  ones — with  the  agony  of 
haunting  terror.  Philosophy  or  no  philosophy,  most 
men  (in  Bacon's  words)  "fear  death  as  children  fear  to 
go  into  the  dark."  There  are  but  few  who  in  their  nor- 
mal moments  can  echo  sincerely  the  words  of  that 
cynic  poet  who  summed  up  his  indictment  of  life  in  the 
fierce  challenge  to 

"Count  o'er  the  pleasures  thou  hast  known, 
Count  o'er  thy  days  from  sorrow  free, 
And  know,  whatever  thou  hast  been, 
'Tis  something  better  not  to  be." 

No,  assuredly,  in  the  estimation  of  most  of  us,  life 
brings  more  of  pleasure  than  of  pain;  and  death  is  a 
curse  and  not  a  blessing. 

What,  then,  have  we  to  do — since  our  theme  is  hap- 
piness— with  this  great  universal  dispenser  of  sorrow? 

The  answer  is  found  in  the  pregnant  words  of  Epi- 
curus, "  The  care  to  Hve  well  is  identical  with  the  care  to 
die  well."  Paradoxical  though  it  seem,  it  is  for  the 
most  part  true  that  if  we  would  die  happily  we  must 
first  have  lived  happily.  For,  be  it  understood,  when 
a  life  has  been  rounded  out  to  its  full  term  of  years  and 
to  the  full  measure  of  its  possibilities  dying  becomes 
more  natural,  and  often  even  more  acceptable,  than  liv- 
ing. Death  is  not  then  a  curse,  but  a  blessing;  and 
it  is  no  misnomer  to  speak  of  dying  happily. 

But  this,  be  it  repeated,  only  when  a  life  has  been 
rounded  to  the  full  term  of  its  years  and  the  full  measure 
of  its  possibilities;  in  other  words,  when  the  life  has 
been  well  lived.     And  to  live  well,  in  this  sense  of  the 

[258] 


HOW  TO  DIE 

words,  implies  something  beyond  the  mere  attainment 
of  direct  personal  happiness,  the  pursuit  of  which  has 
of  necessity  been  the  chief  theme  of  our  preceding 
chapters.  He  who  would  die  happily  must  leave  be- 
hind him  friends  who  will  reverence  his  memory. 
That  philosophic  creed  which  purports  to  welcome 
obhvion,  does  violence  to  the  profoundest  instinct  of  the 
human  mind.  It  is  in  the  very  nature  of  man's  egois- 
tic spirit  that  he  should  yearn  for  the  sympathy 
of  his  fellows  while  he  lives,  and  for  permanent  place 
in  the  memory  of  his  kind  after  he  is  dead.  And  it  is 
but  another  of  those  paradoxes  that  meet  us  every- 
where, which  decrees  that  every  man  shall  stand  a 
chance  of  having  this  egoistic  desire  gratified,  some- 
what in  proportion  as  he  puts  aside  his  egoism  in  his 
dealings  with  his  fellow  men.  He  must  forget  self  in 
order  to  be  remembered  by  his  fellows. 

Our  present  theme,  then,  concerns  that  phase  of 
happiness  which  may  be  derived  from  sympathetic  con- 
tact with  your  fellow  men;  from  associations  of  help- 
fulness rather  than  of  rivalry.  We  have  to  consider 
your  relations  with  your  fellows,  not  so  much  from 
your  standpoint  as  from  theirs.  We  have  to  reflect 
that  it  does  not  so  much  matter  what  you  think  of 
your  fellows  as  what  they  think  of  you;  since,  in  our 
present  view,  the  time  must  come  when  their  opinions 
will  determine  the  very  perpetuity  of  your  terrestrial 
existence,  while  your  opinions  will  have  been  silenced 
forever  in  the  tomb. 

What,  then,  shall  be  your  attitude  of  mind  toward 

[  259  ] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

your  fellows  if  you  are  to  win  their  present  approval 
and  their  lasting  gratitude  ?  I  speak  now  of  course  to 
the  average  man,  not  to  the  exceptional  one  whose  work 
of  creative  genius  may  give  him  fame  regardless  of 
character. 

And  to  this  average  man  I  say :  If  you  would  live  well 
and  die  well  in  the  best  sense  of  the  words;  if  you  would 
attain  the  highest  happiness  and  the  best  rewards; 
you  must  be  at  heart  an  optimist,  in  tender  sympathy 
with  the  needs,  the  aspirations,  the  weaknesses  of  your 
fellow  men.  You  must  curb  your  egoism,  and  give 
heed  to  those  altruistic  racial  needs  imposed  by  the  very 
nature  of  civilized  existence.  If  you  are  strong,  you 
must  pity,  not  merely  dominate,  the  weak;  reflecting 
that  your  strength  and  their  weakness  alike  are  ac- 
cidents of  birth  and  education  over  which  neither  of 
you  had  the  slightest  control.  There  is  no  more  inde- 
fensible or  more  contemptible  human  trait,  than  arro- 
gant pride  of  race,  of  physical  beauty,  of  mental  apti- 
tude, or  of  any  capacity  whatever  which  has  come  to  us 
through  inheritance,  and  for  which  we  are  no  more 
responsible  than  for  the  number  of  our  toes  or  fingers. 

Even  those  accomplishments  that  we  have  acquired 
through  education,  or  through  what  we  speak  of  as  the 
exercise  of  our  own  skill  or  industry  or  frugality,  should 
not  make  us  vain  or  arrogant,  whatever  the  natural 
gratification  they  afford  us.  For  after  all,  these  ac- 
complishments are,  in  the  last  analysis,  no  less  an  en- 
dowment from  our  ancestors  than  those  physical  and 
mental  traits  that  have  just  been  referred  to.  We 
should,  in  simple  logic,  be  grateful  for  the  inheritance 

[260) 


HOW  TO  DIE 

that  has  enabled  us  to  win  in  hfe's  race,  rather  than 
vain  of  what  we  term  "our"  accomphshment. 

It  is  traditional  that  there  are  several  generations  of 
good  blood  behind  every  gentleman.  And  the  man 
who  speaks  of  himself  as  "self-made"  is  self-made 
only  in  a  very  narrow  sense  of  the  words.  He,  too, 
had  ancestors  stretching  back  in  the  ever-widening 
company  of  a  geometrical  ratio  into  the  past ;  and  what- 
ever the  misfortunes  or  deficiencies  of  one  or  two  genera- 
tions of  his  immediate  progenitors,  it  is  the  net  inheri- 
tance from  those  ancestors  and  not  his  own  unaided 
effort  that  has  made  him  what  he  is. 

It  does  not  follow,  of  course,  that  your  optimism, 
your  altruism,  should  be  of  the  maudlin  variety,  which 
makes  no  distinction  between  bathos  and  pathos,  be- 
tween sentiment  and  sentimentality.  BHnd,  unreason- 
ing optimism,  which  closes  its  eyes  to  the  facts  of  human 
nature,  is  the  utmost  folly.  The  indiscriminate  ex- 
tension of  charity  to  whoever  may  ask  it  is  worse  than 
folly — it  is  an  economic  crime  against  society.  But 
a  wisely  sympathetic  outlook  toward  the  real  needs  of 
the  weakly;  a  well-reasoned  wilHngness  to  extend  the 
helping  hand,  are  essential  qualities  in  whoever  would 
show  himself  a  normal  member  of  a  civiHzed  com- 
munity. For  without  such  concessions  of  the  strong 
to  the  weak,  civilization  as  we  know  it  could  not  have 
developed;  nor,  having  developed,  could  it  be  main- 
tained. 

It  is  not,  however,  the  needs  of  the  many,  but  your  own 
individual  happiness,  that  furnishes  our  present  theme. 

[261] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

But  the  application  is  found  in  the  fact  that  all  your 
observances  toward  your  fellows  react  upon  yourself. 
Your  attitude  of  mind  toward  your  fellows  is  reflected  in 
their  joint  attitude  of  mind  toward  you.  The  pessi- 
mist finds  his  neighbor  always  a  disagreeable  man; 
and  rest  assured  the  neighbor  reciprocates  the  courtesy. 
The  optimist  finds  agreeable  traits  in  his  neighbor. 
He  likes  the  people  with  whom  he  comes  in  contact,  even 
when  habited  in  a  community  or  amongst  a  people  whose 
traits  as  a  whole  he  does  not  approve. 

Nor  can  the  pessimist  find  safe  refuge  from  the  antip- 
athy with  which  the  community  regards  him,  behind 
contempt  for  popular  opinions;  for  nothing  is  surer  than 
that,  in  general,  the  popular  estimate  of  a  man's  char- 
acter in  the  community  in  which  he  lives  is  a  correct 
estimate.  In  Lincoln's  famous  phrase,  "you  cannot 
fool  all  the  people  all  the  time,"  and  if  the  popular 
verdict  of  your  community  condemns  you  as  a  disagree- 
able person,  you  may  well  take  the  lesson  to  heart,  and 
mend  your  ways.  Assuredly  if  you  do  not,  your  name 
will  not  be  a  pleasant  memory  to  posterity.  For  pos- 
terity accepts  the  verdicts  of  contemporaries,  and 
rarely  reverses  unfavorable  judgments. 

There  is  no  more  deluded  mortal  in  any  field  of  en- 
deavor than  one  who  despises  the  estimates  of  his  fel- 
lows, and  falls  back  on  the  hope  of  posthumous  fame. 
History  tells  us  that  there  is  rarely  such  a  thing  as 
I^osthumous  fame  for  any  one  who  did  not  have  con- 
temporary fame.  Your  contemporaries  may  do  you  more 
than  justice,  and  posterity  may  refuse  to  accept  at  par 
their  flattering  verdict;    but  if  your  own  generation 

[262] 


■^' 


HOW  TO   DIE 

can  find  nothing  to  praise  in  your  efforts,  posterity  will 
never  ferret  out  your  merits.  A  posthumous  bequest 
may,  indeed,  perpetuate  your  mere  name  but  can  never 
change  the  estimate  of  your  character  that  was  formed 
while  you  were  living. 

All  this  would  be  somewhat  lacking  in  pertinency  were 
it  not  that  the  love  of  approbation  of  our  fellows  is  one 
of  the  most  profound  and  universal  traits  of  the  hu- 
man mind.  No  normal  person  would  prefer  that 
people  should  think  ill  of  him ;  and  most  abnormal  ones 
are  equally  sedulous  to  hide  their  delinquencies  behind 
a  mask  of  seeming  creditability.  Never  the  pessimist 
or  cynic  so  hardened  as  not  to  shrink  before  the  taunts 
and  criticisms  of  his  kind. 

And  if  taunt  and  gibe  were  to  fail,  there  remains  the 
deadly  weapon  Contempt,  which,  as  the  French  prov- 
erb has  it,  will  pierce  the  shell  of  a  tortoise.  Moreover, 
the  worst  shaft  of  contumely  is  that  which  the  unworthy 
man  launches  against  himself.  Whatever  his  pose 
before  the  world,  rest  assured  that  the  contemptible 
person  knows  his  own  littleness.  The  acid  of  his  own 
self-estimate  eats  into  his  soul.  Though  he  smile  and 
smile  he  knows  himself  to  be  a  villain,  even  as  the  world 
knows  it  also;  and  there  is  no  mirth  in  his  laughter. 
That  inward  shadow  of  the  spectre  of  ill-doing,  like  the 
outward  shadow  of  his  own  body,  no  man  may  escape. 

But,  fortunately,  just  as  inescapable  is  the  inward 
radiance  of  well-doing.  The  deed  of  true  charity,  ex- 
ecuted though  it  be  so  silently  that  the  left  hand  know 
not  of  the  right  hand's  doing,  none  the  less  surely  glad- 

[263] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

dens  the  heart,  brightens  the  mind,  paints  its  glow  of 
beneficence  on  the  face  even.  The  act  of  simple  jus- 
tice, free  from  the  taint  of  prejudice  or  self-exaltation 
none  the  less  suffuses  the  soul  with  the  warmth  of  beati- 
tude. No  child  so  young  that  it  does  not  instinctively 
recognize  the  difference  between  that  warmth  and  the 
chill  shadow  of  a  selfish  deed ;  no  man  so  old  or  so  hard- 
ened but  that  he  too  feels  that  difference.  No  sane  man 
is  so  perverted  from  the  standards  of  normal  conscious- 
ness as  not  to  know,  in  his  heart  of  hearts,  which  line 
of  action  makes  for  happiness  and  which  for  misery; 
however  ill  may  be  his  choice  in  practise. 

"The  just  man  is  the  freest  of  all  men  from  dis- 
quietude ;  but  the  unjust  man  is  a  perpetual  prey  to  it," 
said  Epicurus;  and  what  was  true  in  his  generation 
is  no  less  true  in  ours,  though  more  than  half  a  hundred 
generations  have  intervened.  Treat  your  fellow  man 
with  justice.  All  other  admonitions  are  practically 
summed  up  and  implied  in  that  one. 

For  in  order  to  be  just,  you  must  be  free  from  preju- 
dice; and  freedom  from  prejudice  impHes  the  very 
highest  flight  of  mental  culture. 

To  be  just,  you  must  take  into  full  account  the  an- 
tecedents of  your  fellow  man:  his  innate  capacities 
and  weaknesses;  and  this  implies  sympathy  and  al- 
truism. 

To  be  just,  you  must  recognize  your  own  delinquen- 
cies, your  own  conflicting  tendencies  of  character;  and 
this  will  teach  you  charity. 

To  be  just,  you  must  be  honest,  honorable,  upright 
in  thought  and  deed;  and  as  you  follow  the  mandates 

[264] 


HOW  TO  DIE 

of  these  mentors,  surely  you  may  not  doubt  that  many 
another  man  is  moved  to  action  by  the  same  impulses; 
hence  your  own  rectitude  will  make  you  optimistic  as  to 
the  innate  rectitude  of  humanity.  Meantime  the  ex- 
ample of  your  upright  living  will  not  be  lost  on  your 
fellows.  More  than  one  will  strive  to  emulate  it;  more 
than  one  will  have  his  own  sense  of  justice  quickened 
and  strengthened;  and  the  community  at  large  will 
grow  in  appreciation  of  the  possibilities  of  human 
nature,  will  have  their  faith  in  humanity  exalted  by 
your  example,  will  tend  for  the  moment  to  forget  the 
harsh  precepts  of  a  cynic  philosophy,  and  to  grow  in 
optimism. 

If  you  have  achieved  such  an  end  as  that,  you  have 
accomplished  much  in  the  world,  though  your  share  of 
what  is  called  practical  success  be  meagre.  Of  course 
it  is  better  to  succeed  in  your  practical  affairs  as  well. 
But  if  you  have  built  such  a  character  as  that  just  sug- 
gested, you  have  not  altogether  failed,  and  you  may 
await  the  oncoming  of  age  with  philosophic  serenity. 
More  than  likely  your  broadened  view  has  shown  you 
vistas  beyond  the  horizon  of  your  early  ambition,  teach- 
ing you  that  the  goals  at  which  you  aimed  were  by  no 
means  so  important  as  they  once  seemed.  Time 
deals  kindly  with  more  than  one  of  us  in  that  regard, 
else  old  age  would  bring  far  more  of  bitterness  than  it 
does. 

In  sober  reality,  about  the  only  man  who  may  sanely 
dread  the  oncoming  of  age  is  he  whose  ambition  is 
still  fresh  and  whose  life-work,  though  well  under  way, 
is  still  far  from  fruition;   and  even  he  had  assuredly 

[265] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

better  be  about  his  work,  instead  of  wasting  time 
in  vain  regrets  and  futile  apprehensions.  If  your  ex- 
perience has  not  made  you  better  able  at  forty  to  go 
ahead  with  your  useful  work  than  you  were  at  thirty, 
then  it  is  more  than  probable  that  you  would  waste 
the  time  over  again  had  you  the  opportunity  to  do  so. 
Hence  the  regret  of  the  man  of  forty  that  he  is  not 
ten  years  younger — a  regret  one  so  often  hears  ex- 
pressed— is  not  only  foolish  because  of  its  futility,  but 
implies  a  wish  that  would  probably  be  void  of  results 
could  it  be  realised.  There  are  as  many  hours  in  the 
day  for  the  man  of  fifty  as  for  him  of  twenty.  And 
to-day  is  the  only  time  of  which  either  the  one  or  the 
other  can  be  sure;  to-morrow  may  never  come  for 
cither.  Life  therefore  has  as  many  certainties  at  one 
age  as  at  another — and  you  cannot  hypothecate  mere 
probabilities. 

Where,  however,  death  approaches  untimely,  as  from 
accident  or  disease,  while  the  worker  is  still  in  his 
prime  and  his  work  unfinished,  we  may  freely  admit 
that  the  case  is  hard.  As  Henry  IV.  of  France  lay  dan- 
gerously ill,  he  said  to  his  minister  Sully:  "My  friend, 
I  have  no  fear  of  death;  you  have  seen  me  brave  it  in 
a  thousand  instances;  but  I  regret  losing  my  life  before  I 
have  been  able,  by  governing  my  subjects  well,  and 
alleviating  all  their  burthens,  to  demonstrate  that  I 
love  them  as  my  children."  That  monarch's  deeds 
were  consistent  with  his  words,  as  he  was  spared  for  a 
time  to  demonstrate,  before  being  snatched  away,  still 
prematurely,  by  the  assassin's  bullet.     In  such  a  case, 

[266] 


HOW  TO   DIE 

if  death  is  inevitable,  there  is  no  refuge  except  in  the 
philosophic  reflection  that  some  other  hand  will  doubt- 
less do  as  well  the  work  that  you  are  forced  to  lay 
aside;  a  reflection  to  which  the  history  of  every  de- 
partment of  action  and  of  thought  gives  fullest  warrant, 
yet  which  may  be  granted  to  lack  something  of  satis- 
faction to  the  individual  who  must  apply  it  to  his  own 
case.  Death  by  violence  or  disease,  where  it  attacks  a 
worthy  worker,  is  not  a  natural  phenomenon,  but  a 
breaking  in  on  the  orderly  scheme  of  things,  which  we 
must  be  permitted  to  think  a  misfortune  for  humanity. 

We  must  remember,  on  the  other  hand,  that  many  a 
man  thinks  his  work  incomplete,  when  in  reality  his 
useful  message  to  humanity  has  been  delivered  in  full. 
St.  Jerome  tells  us  that  "at  one  hundred  and  seven  years 
of  age,  Theophrastus  lamented  that  he  was  to  die,  just 
when  he  began  to  know  how  to  Hve."  Cicero  relates, 
further,  that  Theophrastus  "complained  of  nature,  as 
he  lay  upon  his  death-bed,  for  having  given  deer  and 
crows  so  long  a  life,  which  was  useless  to  them,  while 
she  had  allotted  men  an  extremely  short  life,  though 
it  was  of  the  greatest  consequence  to  them  to  live  long; 
since,  if  the  age  of  man  was  extended  to  a  greater  num- 
ber of  years,  their  lives  would  be  improved  by  an 
universal  knowledge,  and  all  arts  and  sciences  brought 
to  perfection." 

But  in  reality  it  is  hardly  likely  that  Theophrastus 
knew  any  better  how  to  live  at  one  hundred  years  than 
he  did  at  fifty,  if  indeed  so  well.  And  as  to  granting 
man  a  longer  life,  while  that  might  seem  desirable  if  he 
could  retain  his  faculties  and  the   working  energy  of 

[267] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

his  youth;  yet,  as  physiological  matters  actually  stand, 
it  may  be  questioned  whether  most  men  who  live  out  a 
normal  term  of  years  would  add  anything  further  to 
the  world's  knowledge  or  benefit  could  their  lives  be 
extended  by  another  decade.  Some  men,  as  we  have 
seen,  produce  good  work  in  what  Alexander  von  Hum- 
boldt called  their  "doubtful  years";  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  many  a  famous  man  has  been  led,  through  the 
weakness  of  age,  to  perpetrate  senile  views  that  were 
positively  harmful,  militating  thus  against  the  value  of 
an  otherwise  useful  life. 

As  to  the  sorrow  that  aged  men  feel  in  leaving  the 
world,  the  case  of  Theophrastus — if  indeed  the  report 
of  his  lamentation  be  not  apocr}^hal — was  no  doubt 
exceptional.  Most  men  of  venerable  years  do  not  cling 
to  life  with  quite  the  eagerness  of  youth;  and  for  such 
as  still  find  joy  in  living,  there  is  always  the  consolation 
of  Cicero's  true  assertion  that  "no  man  is  ever  so  old 
but  that  he  thinks  he  may  live  another  year." 

Not  many,  perhaps,  are  ready  positively  to  forego 
that  h}^othetical  year,  when  put  to  the  test.  But  in 
the  end  this  is  decided  for  us,  mostly  with  little  warn- 
ing; and  when  the  summons  is  felt  to  be  final,  but  few 
rebel  in  spirit. 

Even  when  death  comes  prematurely  through  disease 
or  violence,  the  man  that  has  lived  well  will  not  lack 
knowledge  or  fortitude  to  die  well.  It  is  recorded 
that  as  Anne  de  Montmorency,  the  French  Marshal, 
lay  suffering  the  most  excruciating  torture  from  his 
wounds,   a  Cordelier  exhorted   him  to  patience  and 

[268] 


HOW  TO   DIE 

resignation  to  the  will  of  Heaven.  "Ah,  my  good 
father,"  he  replied,  "can  you  suppose  that  a  man  who 
has  been  able  to  pass  a  life  of  near  eighty  years  with 
honor,  cannot  tell  how  to  terminate  properly  the  last 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  it?"  And  this  fortitude  is  as 
typical  as  it  is  admirable. 

Any  man  may  rationally  enough  shrink  from  the 
thought  of  a  death  by  violence,  prepared  though  he  be 
to  meet  such  death  with  fortitude  should  it  come. 
This  shrinking,  however,  may  represent  not  fear  of 
death,  but  fear  of  pain.  Here,  as  indeed  elsewhere, 
it  is,  in  the  words  of  Seneca,  the  paraphernalia  of  the 
death-bed  that  terrify,  rather  than  death  itself.  ^^Der 
Tod  is  nichts,  aber  das  Sterhen  ist  ein  schdndliche 
Erfindung,^^ — Death  is  nothing,  but  dying  is  a  terrible 
experience, — says  Heine,  paraphrasing  the  words  of 
Seneca.  But  in  general  it  is  the  prospect  rather  than 
the  reality  that  is  terrible.  When  the  last  hours  come, 
as  a  rule  they  bring  with  them  the  benison  of  uncon- 
sciousness. 

Even  where  consciousness  is  retained  to  the  end,  the 
last  hours  are  rarely,  in  case  of  natural  death,  hours  of 
suffering.  "If  I  could  hold  a  pen,"  said  WilHam 
Hunter,  the  anatomist,  in  one  of  the  last  moments  of 
his  life,  "I  would  write  how  easy  and  pleasant  a  thing 
it  is  to  die."  And  these  words  but  give  expression  to 
what  is  perhaps  the  normal  experience  of  mankind. 
For  the  vast  majority  of  the  human  race,  dying  proves  as 
painless  a  process  as  the  falling  asleep  that  they  have 
practised  every  night  of  their  lives. 

Thus  to  liken  dying  to  falling  asleep  is  perhaps  the 

[269] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

most  hackneyed  of  all  comparisons;  but  from  its  very 
obviousness  we  can  no  more  escape  it  than  could  our 
forebears.  "Death  and  his  brother  Sleep,"  have  sung 
the  poets  of  every  age  and  in  every  tongue.  Nay, 
prehistoric  man,  before  men  knew  they  were  poets  or 
philosophers,  noted  the  likeness,  and  built  on  it  the 
structure  of  a  philosophy  of  superstition,  ages  before 
the  word  philosopher  came  into  being;  and  the  thinkers 
of  all  succeeding  eras  have  expanded  and  elaborated  the 
idea  to  meet  the  needs  of  their  diverse  systems.  Nor 
can  it  be  said  that  the  accumulating  wisdom  of  the 
ages  has  added  much  to  the  force  of  the  simple  primi- 
tive comparison.  But  the  wise  men  of  the  later  time 
differ  from  the  savage  in  this — they  no  longer  fear  that 
"dreams  may  come"  to  break  in  on  the  serenity  of  the 
long  night  of  death. 

If  death  then  be  but  "a  sleep  and  a  forgetting,"  to 
fear  it  as  one  fears  a  conscious  ill  is  the  very  negation 
of  reason.  The  normal  man  falls  asleep  some  365 
times  each  year,  or  more  than  25,000  times  in  the  course 
of  a  normal  life.  Each  of  these  thousands  of  periods  of 
sleeping,  lasting  on  the  average  seven  or  eight  hours, 
has  been  a  time  of  virtual  oblivion,  during  which  the 
sleeper  was  totally  unconscious  of  the  world-activities 
that  were  moving  full  tilt  in  the  opposite  hemisphere  to 
that  in  which  he  chanced  to  lie.  One-third  of  his  entire 
life  has  thus  been  passed  in  a  state  that,  so  far  as  con- 
sciousness— the  essence  of  volitional  being — is  concerned, 
was  the  negation  of  living.  What  matters  it  if  one 
morning  he  fail  to  awaken  at  his  accustomed  hour? 

[270] 


HOW  TO  DIE 

What  matter  if  his   eight-hour  term  of   obhvion  be 
lengthened  out  from  time  to  eternity? 

The  logic  of  every  age  has  answered  that  for  the 
individual  himself  it  can  nothing  matter.  Sooner  or 
later  his  long  sleep  will  come,  and  for  himself  it  can 
matter  little  whether  it  be  the  present  night  or  another 
that  is  lengthened  beyond  its  fellows.  For  himself — 
aye;  but  what  of  his  friends,  of  the  dear  ones  perhaps 
dependent  upon  the  fruits  of  his  daily  industry  ?  What 
man  lives  solely  for  himself?  The  average  man  falls 
asleep  to-night  to  gain  strength  and  energy  for  to-mor- 
row's task,  which  must  needs  be  done  if  his  family  is  to 
be  supplied  with  the  necessaries  of  life.  Shall  we  say 
that  for  these  dear  dependent  ones  it  does  not  matter 
whether  it  be  to-night  that  he  enters  on  his  long  sleep  ? 
It  would  be  but  a  visionary  philosophy  that  could  make 
that  affirmation . 

For  man  the  social  animal,  then,  it  does  matter — 
and  vastly  matter — when  death  comes.  Whoever  has 
dear  ones  dependent  upon  him  for  bodily  support  and 
for  mental  and  spiritual  stimulus  and  comfort,  is  not  a 
mere  individual,  but  rather  a  component  part  of  a 
social  organism  from  which  he  cannot  be  prematurely 
withdrawn  without  injury  to  the  remaining  parts. 
Such  a  person  may  rationally  shrink  from  premature 
death ;  nay,  he  would  be  irrational  if  he  did  not  fear  it. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  knowing  that  should  the 
"inexorable  summons"  come  his  fears  and  his  desires 
will  avail  him  nothing,  it  is  the  final  test  of  his  ration- 
ality that  he  waste  no  time  in  idle  lamentations,  but 
strive  to  the  utmost  to  make  such  material  provision  for 

[271] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

those  dependent  on  him  as  will  minimize  the  evils  of  his 
withdrawal,  should  withdrawal  be  inevitable.  I  know 
not  how  the  man  that  has  not  made  provision — to  the 
best  of  his  ability — for  the  future  of  his  dear  ones,  can 
enjoy  a  night  of  normal  slumber;  much  less  should  such 
a  delinquent  be  able  to  contemplate  death  with  any 
show  of  serenity.  His  surely  cannot  be  the  calm 
resignation  of  the  man  who  knows  well  how  to  die  be- 
cause he  has  known  well  how  to  live. 

But  however  full  your  provision  for  those  dependent 
upon  you;  however  ripe  the  measure  of  your  living; 
however  painlessly  you  sink  into  the  sweet  forgetfulness 
of  peaceful  slumber;  your  withdrawal  from  companion- 
ship must  be  a  grief  to  those  that  hold  you  dear,  against 
which  no  philosophy  can  for  the  moment  avail  them. 
The  measure  and  the  permanence  of  this  sorrow  must, 
indeed,  be  somewhat  proportionate  to  the  measure  of 
your  right-living.  But  with  proportionate  sincerity, 
as  time  brings  consolation  and  the  memory  of  your  life 
becomes  a  pleasant  reminiscence,  will  your  sometime 
companions  enshrine  in  their  hearts  the  words  which 
Callimachus  inscribed  long  ago  to  Saon  of  Acanthus, 
son  of  Dicon: 

"  He  lies  in  a  sacred  sleep ; 
Say  not  that  men  of  virtue  die." 


[272] 


Appendix 


AMPLIFYING  CERTAIN  ASPECTS  OF  THE 
FOREGOING   TEXT 


"Happiness  lies  all  in  the  functions  of  reason;    in  war- 
rantable desires  and  virtuous  practice." 

— Marcus  Aurelius. 


WHAT    TO    EAT 

{An  amplification  of  certain  aspects  of  the  questions  dealt  with 
in  the  Chapter  on  Physical  Needs,  pp.  19-38.] 

IT  may  be  well  to  recall  that  there  are  two  quite 
different  ways  of  regarding  the  food  problem. 
One  may  eat  to  live,  or  one  may  live  to  eat ;  and 
one's  way  of  estimating  the  food  problem  will  differ 
somewhat  according  to  the  class  one  belongs  to.  Yet 
after  all,  the  difference  is  more  seeming  than  real ;  for 
over-indulgence  destroys  the  capacity  for  enjoyment ;  so 
in  the  end  the  man  who  lives  to  eat  will  get  more  pleasure 
from  his  palate  by  showing  it  some  consideration. 
Moreover,  the  individuals  are  few  who  wholly  despise 
the  pleasures  of  the  palate.  Indeed,  the  physical  appe- 
tite is  too  deep-seated  and  too  essential  to  be  ignored 
in  practice,  even  by  those  who  mentally  deplore  its  ex- 
istence. 

To  appreciate  the  character  of  the  insistent  appeal, 
and  to  understand  the  real  share  of  food-taking  in  the 
economy  of  the  organism,  it  must  be  recalled  that  the 
human  body  is  a  physical  machine,  to  which  the  familiar 
physical  laws  of  the  conservation  of  energy  apply  as 
fully  as  to  any  mechanism  of  man's  construction. 
Every  self-impelled  motion  of  any  portion  of  the  body — 
be  it  but  the  flick  of  a  finger — is  accompanied  by  the 

[275] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

destruction  of  a  portion  of  organic  tissue,  and  by 
elaborate  chemical  transmutations.  Such  chemical 
changes,  stated  in  the  least  technical  language,  con- 
stitute a  virtual  burning  of  fuel.  Oxygen,  brought 
from  the  lungs  by  the  red  blood  corpuscles,  unites  with 
certain  matter  of  the  tissues,  with  a  resulting  liberation 
of  energy,  partly  measurable  as  muscular  force,  and 
partly  as  heat. 

The  product  of  this  oxyclation — ashes  of  this  com- 
bustion— are  no  longer  available  for  the  purposes  of 
bodily  nourishment  or  energy-production;  indeed, 
they  are  not  merely  useless,  they  are  positively  detri- 
mental. If  allowed  to  accumulate  in  the  tissues  or  the 
blood,  they  arc  noxious  poisons,  quickly  overpowering 
the  organism  and  destroying  life.  The  uraemic  poison- 
ing of  certain  kidney  diseases  furnishes  a  well-known 
case  in  point. 

It  is  familiar  experience  that  the  body  may  exist  for 
long  periods  without  exerting  the  muscles;  so  it  would 
be  possible,  on  this  score,  to  reduce  the  necessity  for 
fuel  almost  indefinitely — though  not  quite  indefinitely, 
since  heart  muscles  and  the  muscles  of  the  respiratory 
and  digestive  systems  are  perpetually  active.  But, 
however  inactive,  the  organism  is  of  necessity  giving 
off  heat  (unless  kept  in  a  medium  at  a  temperature  that 
would  be  unendurable)  and  this  heat  must  be  supplied 
by  the  burning  of  fuel,  else  the  bodily  temperature  as  a 
whole  would  quickly  sink  below  the  level  at  which  life 
may  be  maintained. 

One  of  the  most  remarkable  of  physiological  facts 
is  the  narrow  range  of  temperature  maintained  by  the 

[276] 


WHAT  TO   EAT 

body  in  health.  Day  and  night,  summer  and  winter, 
the  organism  scarcely  varies  by  so  much  as  a  single 
degree  centigrade  from  the  same  normal  level.  The 
interior  of  the  body  is  indeed  warmer  than  the  surface, 
but  the  swiftly  flowing  blood  tends  naturally  to  establish 
equilibrium.  Even  under  stress  of  the  maladjustment 
due  to  disease,  the  range  of  temperature  is  only  a  few 
degrees, — rarely  more  than  six. 

This  of  course  impHes  the  existence  of  bodily  mechan- 
isms for  regulating  of  the  elimination  of  heat.  The 
skin,  with  its  perspiratory  apparatus,  is  the  most  con- 
spicuous of  these.  When  the  pores  are  open  and  per- 
spiration is  active,  the  evaporating  liquid  exerts  an 
enormous  cooling  influence.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
the  pores  are  closed  and  the  excretions  reduced  to  a 
minimum,  the  skin  serves  as  a  relatively  impervious 
barrier,  and  the  bodily  heat  is  conserved  to  a  remarkable 
degree.  Yet  at  the  very  best  there  is  a  considerable 
loss  of  heat,  and  the  body  would  quickly  cool  below  the 
life-line  were  the  combustion-fires  to  be  quite  extin- 
guished. 

Such  physiological  explanations  as  this  serve,  after 
all,  only  to  give  technical  expression  to  the  familiar 
knowledge  that  the  body  must  be  perpetually  supplied 
with  food.  It  required  no  scientific  analysis  to  teach 
mankind  that  elementary  truth.  Yet  it  is  always  of 
interest  to  know  the  whys  of  the  most  familiar  phenom- 
ena, and,  moreover,  it  is  ahvays  possible  that  the  ex- 
planation of  an  old  truth  may  put  us  in  line  of  dis- 
covery of  facts  that  are  not  so  familiar. 

In  the  present  instance,  for  example,  we  shall  be 

[277] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

better  able  to  apply  intelligent  discrimination  between 
seemingly  conflicting  practical  experiences,  if  we  bear 
in  mind  the  underlying  character  of  that  need  which 
expresses  itself  as  a  desire  for  food.  To  the  same  end, 
it  will  be  well  to  carry  our  physiological  explanations 
one  step  farther,  noting  the  chemical  character  of  the 
materials  which  supply  mankind  with  food.  For  this 
purpose,  we  may  for  the  moment  overlook  the  ever- 
present  supply  of  gaseous  food  in  the  form  of  oxygen, 
that  is  taken  into  the  body  through  the  lungs,  and  the 
equally  essential  liquid  food-stuff  in  the  form  of  the 
universal  solvent,  water. 

Paying  heed  rather  to  the  solid  and  semi-solid  sub- 
stances that  are  more  conventionally  thought  of  as 
food-stuffs,  we  find  that  these — great  as  is  their  seeming 
diversity — are  all  susceptible  of  being  sorted  into  three 
classes,  which  the  physiological  chemist  designates 
(i)  proteins,  (2)  carbohydrates,  and  (3)  fats. 

Proteins,  or  albuminoid  substances,  are  such  as 
contain  nitrogen  combined  with  oxygen,  carbon, 
hydrogen,  and  sundry  other  elements  in  lesser  quan- 
tities. The  essential  condition,  from  a  chemical  stand- 
point, is  the  presence  of  the  nitrogen.  Proteins  are 
often  spoken  of  as  nitrogenous  foods.  Familiar  ex- 
amples of  this  class  of  food  are  furnished  by  meat  of 
all  kinds;  eggs  and  milk  also  contain  albuminoids, 
and  so  do  such  vegetables  as  the  cereals,  and,  in  par- 
ticular, lentils,  peas  and  beans. 

Carbohydrates  are  so  called  because  they  are  com- 
posed of  carbon,  hydrogen,  and  oxygen.  The  sugars 
and  the  starches  are  the  typical  carbohydrate  foods. 

[278] 


^  WHAT  TO  EAT 

Fats  are  akin  to  carbohydrates  in  composition,  in 
that  they  are  made  up  of  carbon,  hydrogen,  and 
oxygen,  and  are  devoid  of  nitrogen,  but  they  differ 
in  molecular  arrangement  of  the  elements,  as  their 
obvious  physical  qualities  testify  to  the  most  casual 
observer. 

Proteins  are  direct  suppliers  of  muscular  waste; 
carbohydrates  and  fats  are  suppliers  of  energy,  and  may 
be  stored  for  future  use  in  the  form  of  fat. 

It  is  an  elementary  physiological  truth  that  a  portion 
of  each  of  these  three  types  of  food-stuffs  must  be 
included  in  a  well-rounded  dietary.  It  is  possible  to 
state  pretty  definitely  how  much  of  each  of  the  principal 
chemical  elements  should  be  included;  but  such  a 
citation  has  no  practical  importance  for  the  generality 
of  people.  It  is  really  more  to  the  point  to  recall  that 
countless  millions  of  beings  solved  the  problem  of  food 
measureably  well  in  ages  when  physiological  chemistry 
did  not  exist,  even  as  a  name,  and  that  countless  individ- 
uals to-day  are  led  by  their  mere  instincts,  and  the 
accumulated  experience  that  is  matter  of  everyday 
knowledge,  to  altogether  satisfactory  results.  Exper- 
ience, after  all,  must  be  the  final  arbiter.  But  when 
empirical  experience  walks  hand  in  hand  with  scientific 
analysis,  each  helping  the  other,  we  may  hope  for  the 
best  results.  Only  we  must  beware  of  scientific  dog- 
matism, no  less  than  of  empirical  dogmatism. 

Glancing  back  into  the  pre-scientific  past,  then,  we 
find  that  a  vast  majority  of  our  ancestors  were  of 
omnivorous  food  habits.    The  teeth  of  man  have  not 

[279] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

changed  essentially  in  form  since  the  pre-historic 
period,  and  undoubtedly  the  teeth  are  those  of  an 
omnivorous  animal.  This  does  not  prove  that  man 
should  necessarily  indulge  in  a  widely  varied  diet 
to-day,  but  it  offers  at  least  a  suggestive  hint. 

The  diet  of  primitive  man  doubtless  depended  largely 
upon  opportunity.  In  tropical  and  semi-tropical 
latitudes — where  we  may  suppose  our  primitive  ancestor 
made  his  home — fruits  and  nuts  were  to  be  found  in 
relative  abundance,  suitable  for  food  without  artificial 
preparation.  Eggs  of  birds  and  reptiles,  and  the  flesh 
of  young  birds  and  animals  were  also  obtainable,  as 
were  numerous  species  of  snails  and  large  insects;  and 
along  the  rivers  mollusks  and  fish  could  be  secured. 
So  from  the  very  first  man's  appetite  was  pampered  by 
a  varied  diet. 

When  man  became  a  full-fledged  hunter  and  fisher, 
and  wandered  to  the  north,  he  doubtless  disturbed 
somewhat  the  balance  of  his  dietary  by  the  increased 
proportion  of  proteins  represented  by  the  flesh  of  his 
quarry.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  he  presently  became 
an  agriculturist  also,  and  the  cereals  and  vegetables 
thus  added  to  his  food-supply  tended  to  restore  the 
balance,  by  supplying  an  abundant  store  of  carbo- 
hydrates. 

Before  the  dawn  of  history  man  had  become  an 
efficient  herder  and  agriculturist;  his  herds  comprised 
the  ox,  sheep,  and  goat.  The  jungle  fowl  was  not  yet 
known  in  the  Mediterranean  region,  but  ducks,  geese, 
and  pigs  had  been  tamed;  rye,  barley,  oats,  wheat, 
and  rice  were  under  cultivation,  together  with  a  con- 

[280] 


WHAT  TO   EAT 

siderable  number  of  garden  vegetables  that  are  still 
in  vogue. 

It  must  be  recalled,  however,  that  the  eastern  hemis- 
phere did  not  supply  the  turkey,  and  that  the  very 
important  white  potato  and  Indian  corn — not  to  men- 
tion tobacco,  which  is  at  least  next  door  to  a  food-stuff — 
are  also  exclusive  products  of  the  Americans.  The 
introduction  of  the  potato,  in  particular,  in  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries  led  to  one  of  the  most  im- 
portant changes  in  the  diet  of  the  average  man  that 
have  taken  place  within  the  historical  period.  It 
supplied  a  cheap,  starchy  food,  such  as  had  not  hitherto 
been  available,  and  doubtless  aided  in  decreasing  the 
proportion  of  meat  in  the  average  European  dietary. 
Nevertheless,  meat  was  the  predominant  food-stuff 
long  after  the  potato  was  introduced. 

As  to  sweets,  which  form  so  constant  a  part  of  the 
average  diet  to-day,  the  ancient  world  was  virtually 
restricted  to  a  single  kind— namely  honey.  The 
familiar  Hebrew  phrase  "a  land  flowing  in  milk  and 
honey"  suggests  the  esteem  in  which  this  native  sweet 
was  held.  Among  the  Greeks,  honey  was  one  of  the 
most  important  commodities  of  commerce;  Attic 
honey,  supplied  by  bees  that  fed  upon  the  wild  thyme 
on  the  hills  of  Hymettus  near  Athens,  being  particularly 
celebrated.  Throughout  the  Middle  Ages  honey 
continued  to  be  the  standard  sweet.  Sugar,  made  from 
the  juice  of  the  cane,  is  a  strictly  modem  luxury, — or 
necessity, — and  beet  sugar,  which  now  greatly  pre- 
dominates over  cane  sugar  in  the  markets  of  the  world, 
is  a  development  of  the  late  nineteenth  century. 

[281] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

The  supply  of  honey  available  in  any  age  was  prob- 
ably always  limited,  as  compared  with  the  commercial 
output  of  the  modern  sugars. 

Precise  statistics  as  to  the  matter  are  not  available, 
but  it  is  incredible  that  the  honey  crop  can  have  been 
more  than  a  bagatelle  compared  with  the  millions  of 
tons  of  grape  sugar  and  cane  sugar  that  represents 
the  yearly  output  of  our  own  time. 

We  may  all  suppose,  then,  that  sweet  carbohydrates 
have  a  larger  share  in  the  average  dietary  of  to-day 
(particularly  in  America)  than  they  ever  claimed  in  the 
dietary  of  any  earlier  generation.  It  is  possible  that 
this  change  will  have  an  appreciable  effect  upon  the 
physique  of  our  race ;  but  the  exact  nature  of  this  effect 
may  not  safely  be  predicted. 

Meantime,  it  would  appear  that  if  changed  dietetic 
conditions  have  had  any  influence  upon  the  physical 
development  of  our  race,  it  has  been  in  the  direction 
of  increasing  the  average  size;  since  it  is  affirmed  that 
the  average  upper-class  Englishman  of  to-day  cannot 
wear  the  average  armor  of  the  Middle  Ages.  As  to 
general  health,  as  tested  by  average  length  of  life,  of 
course  that  is  incomparably  better;  but  we  must 
guard  against  drawing  sweeping  conclusions  from  this, 
since  the  banishment  of  plagues,  through  preventive 
medicines  and  perfected  hygiene,  reasonably  accounts 
for  most  if  not  all  of  the  improvement.  For  example, 
it  was  no  change  of  diet,  but  the  discovery  of  Jenner, 
that  veritably  banished  small-pox — a  disease  which,  in 
the  days  of  our  great  grandfathers,  claimed  one-tenth 
of  the  whole  population  as  its  victims. 

[282] 


WHAT  TO  EAT 

Such  facts  as  that  warn  us  against  dogmatism  in 
attempting  to  draw  lessons  from  history.  About  the 
only  safe  conclusion  that  a  study  of  the  dietary  condi- 
tions of  our  ancestors  seems  to  warrant,  is  that  the 
generality  of  mankind  at  all  stages  of  human  develop- 
ment have  eaten  as  great  a  variety  of  foods  as  they 
could  secure,  guided  by  the  palate  only,  and  without 
concerning  themselves  as  to  dietetic  theories,  and  have 
thriven  measureably. 

Doubtless  there  have  been  faddists  in  all  ages  who 
argued  for  limited  diet.  We  know,  for  example,  that 
Pythagoras,  one  of  the  earliest  of  Greek  philosophers, 
was  credited  with  advocating  a  strictly  vegetable  diet, 
away  back  in  the  sixth  century  b.  c.  But  no  civihzed 
people  have  ever  carried  out  such  an  experiment  on  a 
large  scale;  and  to  this  day  the  advocates  of  vegetable 
diet  are  obliged  to  depend  upon  theories,  unsupported 
by  the  only  kind  of  evidence  that  could  really  be  con- 
vincing. 

No  one  questions  that  it  would  be  possible  for  man- 
kind to  subsist  on  a  vegetable  diet, — since  such  a  diet 
could  be  so  selected  as  to  supply  all  the  necessary 
elements  of  nutrition, — but  the  only  races  that  actually 
put  the  matter  to  the  test  of  practice  are  certain  Poly- 
nesian savages  of  a  very  low  order,  who  certainly  do  not 
offer  an  inspiriting  example. 

It  has  been  pointed  out  that  these  vegetarian  savages 
are  cruel  and  ferocious,  whereas  the  Esquimaux,  who 
live  on  an  almost  exclusively  animal  diet,  are  notor- 
iously mild  and  peaceable  in  disposition.    But  climatic 

[283] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

conditions  are  so  obviously  a  possible  factor  in  deter- 
mining the  temperament  of  these  races — one  of  which 
inhabit  the  tropics,  the  other  the  arctic  regions — that 
sweeping  conclusions  must  not  be  drawn  from  the 
otherwise  suggestive  facts. 


II 


BRAIN    AND    MIND 

[Amplifying  the  text  of  PcOrt  II:  Mental  Aspects  of  the 
Problem  of  Happiness,  pp.  81-132.] 

Cogito,  ergo  sum — I  think,  therefore  I  am.  Such  is 
the  classical  phrase  in  which  the  great  Frenchman 
Descartes  summed  up  the  essence  of  his  philosophy. 
At  first  glance  perhaps  the  full  logic  of  this  proposition 
is  not  apparent;  but  the  more  you  cogitate  the  phrase 
the  more  profound  it  will  seem.  "I  think,  therefore 
I  am" — when  you  reflect  on  it  fully  you  will  see  that 
you  have  no  other  means  of  demonstrating  your  exist- 
ence. Could  we  not  think,  quite  obviously  we  could  not 
know  of  our  own  existence,  or  of  any  other  existence. 
We  should  be  as  non-sentient  as  sticks  or  stones. 

"None  the  less  we  might  still  exist,  just  as  the  sticks 
and  stones  exist,"  you  may  say.  True  enough,  but  you 
could  not  prove  that  you  existed,  which  of  course  is 
the  sense  in  which  Descartes'  phrase  must  be  received. 

Quite  in  keeping  with  the  egoistic  character  of  this 
postulate  of  Descartes,  is  the  truth — which  at  first 
thought  seems  a  little  startling,  but  which  is  seen  on 
reflection  to  be  almost  axiomatic — that  each  of  us  can 

[284] 


BRAIN   AND   MIND 

really  know  nothing  except  by  inference  of  any  mind 
other  than  our  own. 

When  I  speak  of  the  human  mind,  I  am  really  draw- 
ing inferences  from  my  own  mind.  I  can  by  no  possi- 
bility gain  any  direct  knowledge  as  to  your  mind,  nor 
can  you  gain  any  direct  knowledge  of  my  mind.  We 
cannot  see  or  hear  or  touch  an  idea;  we  can  experi- 
ence it  in  our  own  mind,  but  we  cannot  in  any  direct 
way  experience  the  idea  of  another  person  than  our- 
selves. 

What  we  know  then  of  other  minds  than  our  own  is 
strictly  inferential.  The  brain-cell  which  is  the  essential 
organ  of  mind  can  telegraph  out  and  order  certain 
muscles  to  move  in  this  way  or  that,  and  this  is  its 
only  possible  way  of  communication  with  the  world. 
Through  the  movements  thus  attained  come  the 
gestures,  actions,  and  language  which  are  the  only 
outward  symbols  by  which  mind  manifests  itself.  It 
would  be  possible,  by  cutting  only  a  few  nerve  channels, 
to  shut  off  the  mind  absolutely  from  any  outward 
expression  of  its  feelings  and  ideas.  Indeed,  disease 
sometimes  does  this,  and  the  victim  must  lie  motionless, 
unable  in  any  way  to  give  expression  to  his  desires. 

But  under  ordinary  circumstances,  these  channels 
of  outward  expression  are  in  constant  operation,  and 
the  mind  is  communicating  with  the  outside  world 
incessantly.  And  from  the  peculiarities  of  the  action, 
gesture,  and  speech  that  are  the  media  of  this  com- 
munication, we  infer  that  other  minds  are  hke  our  own. 
This  similarity  would  not  exist  had  not  the  individuals 
who  manifest  it  descended  from  the  same  races,  and 

[285] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF  HAPPINESS 

had  not  their  ancestors  from  long  association  learned 
to  use  the  same  symbols  for  the  same  ideas.  But 
since  this  is  the  case,  we  have  the  strongest  possible 
warrant  for  assuming  that  the  gestures,  and  actions, 
and  words  of  others  with  whom  we  are  associated  are 
prompted  by  just  such  ideas  as  are  in  our  own  minds. 

This,  however,  is  only  an  inference.  When  you  and 
I  touch  this  table  together,  I  can  never  know  positively 
that  it  feels  to  you  as  it  does  to  me.  But  I  have  the 
strongest  possible  inferential  warrant  for  assuming 
that  it  does,  and  the  entire  structure  of  our  society  is 
based  on  this  assumption. 

Reasoning  along  lines  suggested  by  such  an  analysis 
as  this,  the  idealistic  philosophers  have  developed  a 
theory  that  nothing  exists  but  mind.  "There  is.  no 
such  thing  as  matter,"  they  declare,  "independently 
of  sensation  of  mind;  there  is  no  such  thing  as  color 
save  as  the  eye  interprets  certain  conditions;  similarly 
there  is  no  sound  save  for  the  ears;  no  odor  save  for 
the  olfactory  organs."  This  method  of  reasoning  has 
its  allurements,  but  it  lacks  the  suffrage  of  common 
sense,  and  we  ne(;d  not  follow  it.  The  powers  of  mind 
are  quite  wonderful  enough  without  attempting  to 
stretch  their  bounds.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may 
freely  admit  the  truth  of  the  poet's  contention  that 
"There's  nothing  good  or  bad  but  thinking  makes  it 
so." 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  lists  of  controversy  from 
the  Idealist  stands  the  Materialist,  armed  with  the 
belief  that  nothing  exists  but  matter;    or — for  it  is 

[286] 


BRAIN   AND  MIND 

difficult  to  state  philosophical  beliefs  fairly  in  a  phrase — 
at  least  that  matter  is  paramount,  and  that  all  known 
phenomena  are  but  the  observed  effects  of  the  inter- 
actions of  matter.  "The  brain  secretes  thought  as  the 
liver  secretes  bile"  is  the  famous  dictum  of  Cabanis, 
thrown  full  at  the  heads  of  the  old  school  of  idealists. 

With  the  pretty  turmoil  that  such  an  announcement 
naturally  elicited,  we  have  no  present  concern.  In  the 
philosophical  byways  there  are  still  to  be  seen  and  heard 
reminiscences  of  the  struggle,  and  no  cautious  person 
dare  affirm  that  the  problem  of  the  ultimate  relations 
of  matter  and  of  the  forces  that  operate  on  matter  has 
been  solved.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  one  hazards 
nothing  in  affirming  that  the  proximal  problem  of  the 
dependence  of  mind  upon  the  functionings  of  the 
brain — which  for  our  present  purpose  is  all  that  con- 
cerns us — is  settled  beyond  the  range  of  dispute.  No 
one  to-day  questions  that  the  brain  is,  in  a  very  tangible 
and  real  sense,  the  organ  of  mind;  and  that  upon  the 
proper  action  of  this  organ  depends  the  integrity  of  our 
thoughts  and  feelings. 

Waiving  all  remoter  philosophical  implications,  the 
acceptance  of  this  belief  implies  a  long  advance  upon 
the  opinions  of  our  ancestors  only  a  few  generations 
removed,  who  held  that  the  sole  function  of  the  brain 
is  to  cool  the  blood,  and  that  the  seat  of  mind  is  to  be 
found  in  the  heart.  Now  we  know  that,  though  the 
heart  supplies  the  all-important  blood,  without  which 
no  functioning  is  possible,  yet  that  the  direct  and 
proximal  organ  of  mind  is  the  brain.  If  we  are  to  think 
right,  our  brains — not  our  hearts  alone — must  be  right. 

[287] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

Any  physical  perversion  of  the  brain  is  sure  to  be 
recorded  in  a  perversion  of  the  mind. 

So  much  as  this,  stated  in  general  terms,  is  doubtless 
familiar  knowledge  nowadays  to  every  intelligent 
reader ;  but  I  suppose  there  are  many  readers  who  have 
but  a  very  vague  idea  as  to  the  anatomical  conditions 
that  exist  in  the  brain,  and  upon  which  the  activity  of 
mind  depends.  It  may  not  be  amiss,  then,  to  supple- 
ment our  studies  of  the  action  of  mind  with  a  brief 
outline  of  the  underlying  brain  conditions.  Such  a 
study  will  perhaps  make  it  easier  to  grasp  the  import 
of  a  simple  analysis  of  mental  processes  themselves. 

At  the  outset,  then,  it  must  be  understood  that  the 
brain  is  in  effect  an  aggregation  of  nerve  ganglia,  and 
that  such  an  aggregation  is  found  only  among  the 
animals  that  are  relatively  high  in  the  organic  scale, — 
that  is  to  say,  among  the  vertebrates.  With  the  very 
lowest  vertebrates,  the  collection  of  ganglia  makes  up  a 
spinal  cord  that  is  but  slightly  enlarged  at  its  anterior 
end  to  form  a  brain  proper.  But  as  we  come  up  the  or- 
ganic scale,  this  anterior  enlargement  of  the  spinal  cord 
becomes  more  and  more  conspicuous  (and  the  animal 
correspondingly  more  intelligent),  until  finally  in  the 
case  of  birds  and  mammals  it  is  relatively  enormous 
in  size.  Man,  at  the  head  of  the  scale,  has  a  brain  that 
is  not  only  relatively  the  largest  of  all,  but  that  is  actually 
larger  than  that  of  any  other  animals  except  the  whale 
and  the  elephant. 

The  essential  structures  of  the  brain  are  minute  cells, 
and  fibres  that  connect  these  cells  with  one  another  and 

[288] 


BRAIN   AND   MIND 

with  the  organs  and  tissues  lying  without  the  brain. 
These  essential  cells  are  so  infinitesimal  in  size  that 
many  millions  of  them  lie  imbedded  in  each  cubic 
centimeter  of  the  brain  substance.    We  need  not  here 
attempt  to  surmise  how  they  perform  the  work  that  is 
laid  out  for  them,  but  we  may  tell  pretty  definitely  what 
that  work  is.    The  fibres  from  the  cells  run  out  to  the 
periphery  of  the  body,  and  there  become  a  part  of  all 
of  the  tissues  that  are  in  contact  with  the  outer  world. 
For  convenience  we  may  think  of  these  fibres  as  tele- 
graph wires  that  convey  messages  from  the  outer  world 
to  the  brain-cell.     If  any  part  of  our  body  comes  in 
contact  with  an  exterior  object,  we  at  once  feel  that  the 
surface  of  that  object  is  soft  or  hard,  as  the  case  may  be ; 
that  it  is  cold  or  warm,  rough  or  smooth,  and  the  like. 
We  seem  to  learn  all  this  instantaneously,  but  in  point 
of  fact  we  do  not  know  it  until  the  impressions  received 
at  the  finger-tip,  for  example,  have  been  transmitted 
to  the  brain,  and  there  interpreted  by  the  brain-cells. 
In  the  process  of  this  interpretation,  the  mind  appears. 
The  same  thing  is  true  of  all  impressions  that  we 
receive  through  the  organs  of  special  sense.    The  eye 
does  not  see,  the  ear  does  not  hear,  the  tongue  does 
not  taste,  the  nose  does  not  smell;    but  each  of  these 
organs  receives  impressions  from  different   kinds  of 
forces  of  the   external  world,  and   transmits  them  to 
the  brain;    and  it  is  the  tiny  brain-cell  that  develops 
the  complex  sensations  in  question.      The  superficial 
organ  of  sense  is  like  the  transmitter  of  a  telephone. 
The  nerve  fibril  is  the  transmitting  wire.     The  brain- 
cell  is  the  internal  transmitter,  back  of  which  stands 

[289] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

Mind,  the  sentient  being,  listening  to  the  message  that 
the  complex  apparatus  brings  from  the  outer  world. 
Every  part  of  this  apparatus  must  be  in  good  working 
order,  or  the  message  will  either  fail  to  come  at  all  to 
the  mind,  or  will  be  a  distorted  one. 

To  make  the  comparison  complete,  it  must  be  known 
that  the  brain-cells  that  thus  receive  messages  from 
without  are  also  in  constant  communication  with  one 
another  through  the  medium  of  a  vastly  complex 
network  of  fibres  that  merely  pass  from  one  cell  to  an- 
other, without  extending  beyond  the  confines  of  the 
brain.  Thus  the  messages  received  from  one  source 
are  constantly  checked,  as  it  were,  by  comparison  with 
messages  from  other  sources;  such  association  being 
equally  essential  to  the  development  of  correct  inter- 
pretations of  the  various  and  sundry  messages.  By 
means  of  the  apparatus  of  associational  fibres  and  cells, 
it  is  possible  also  to  send  out  messages  from  the  brain 
to  the  periphery  of  the  body, — along  another  set  of 
exterior  wires, — ordering  certain  sets  of  muscles  to  con- 
tract, to  meet  what  the  mind  conceives  to  be  the  needs 
of  the  body. 

Such,  then,  is  the  physical  sub-structure  beneath 
the  mind.  Such  is  the  apparatus  that  must  functionate 
in  order  that  the  curious  process  we  call  thinking  may 
be  effected.  But,  after  emphasizing  thus  the  inter- 
dependence of  mind  and  body,  we  may  revert  to  the 
earlier  point  of  view  to  the  extent  of  reaffirming  that, 
after  all,  the  brain  and  the  body  in  which  it  rests  are  of 
no  importance  in  and  for  themselves.  They  are  solely 
important  as  being  the  dwelling-place  of  the  mind. 

[290] 


THE  TEST  OF   AGE 

Physical  beauty,  for  example,  is  of  no  consequence 
except  as  the  mind  interprets  it; — except  as  it  gives 
pleasure  to  the  mind  of  its  possessor  and  to  the  minds 
of  others. 

Physical  infirmity  could  be  of  no  consequence  save 
for  its  effects,  direct  or  indirect,  in  curtailing  the 
happiness  of  the  afflicted  individual  or  his  fellows. 
In  a  word,  then,  I  repeat,  the  conditions  of  body  and 
brain  are  important  not  in  and  for  themselves,  but  only 
because  of  their  essential  influence  on  the  all-important 
mind,  which  alone  interprets  the  conditions  of  well- 
being  or  of  ill-being;  which  alone  knows  anything  of 
happiness. 


Ill 


(THE    TEST    OF    AGE 

[Amplifying  the  text  of  the  chapter  on  Youth  versus  Age, 

p.  165,  seq.] 

Apropos  of  what  is  said  on  p.  170  about  the  hour 
as  the  better  unit  for  computing  age,  rather  than  the 
year,  I  recall  once  hearing  a  man  of  alleged  immature 
years  argue  this  standard  against  a  critic  who  had  con- 
temptuously assured  him  that  he  would  ''know  more 
when  he  was  older." 

"But,  my  dear  sir,"  said  the  man  of  twenty-five, 
"I  am  already  older  than  you." 

"Nonsense,"  repHed  the  other;  "I  am  forty-three 
and  you  are  not  yet  thirty." 

"Forty-three  what?" 

[291] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

"Why,  years,  of  course." 

"But  what  have  years  to  do  with  the  matter?  Yon- 
der tree  is  probably  a  century  old,  but  I  presume  you 
will  not  admit  that  it  is  wiser  than  you  are.  To  measure 
a  man's  life  with  years  is  like  measuring  diamonds  in  a 
bushel  measure.  Now  you  don't  estimate  diamonds 
that  way;  you  don't  even  weigh  them  by  ounces  or 
drachms  or  grains.  Your  unit  is  the  karat,  which  is  a 
mere  fraction  of  a  grain.  In  the  same  way  the  life  of  a 
man  should  be  estimated  not  in  years  or  months  or 
days  even,  but  in  minutes  or  seconds.  Take  care  of  the 
seconds  and  the  years  will  take  care  of  themselves.  Let 
us,  however,  measure  even  by  the  crude  standard  of 
hours,  and  I  shall  still  be  able  to  show  that  I  have 
really  lived  longer  than  you  have." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  the  other  incredulously. 

"Well,  to  begin  with,  what  are  your  hours  of  sleep?" 

"I  retire  about  ten  and  arise  at  eight." 

"Very  good.  I  retire  at  eleven  and  arise  at  five;  so 
I  take  six  hours  of  sleep  to  your  ten,  gaining  four  hours 
of  waking  life  each  day.  Now  how  much  time  do  you 
spend  at  meals?" 

"About  three  hours." 

"And  I  not  over  an  hour;  so  I  gain  two  hours  more. 
What  about  games?  I  notice  that  you  play  billiards 
and  cards  and  checkers  a  good  deal." 

"Yes,  I  always  play  one  or  another  game  for  two 
hours  in  the  evening." 

"Durinsj  which  time  I  am  studvini?  some  informative 
book.  Therefore  I  must  claim  those  hours  also.  I 
don't  say  your  time  at  the  games  is  absolutely  wasted. 

[292] 


f 


THE  TEST  OF  AGE 

Perhaps  that  recreation  is  necessary  for  your  health 
even;  but  I  do  not  require  that  kind  of  diversion,  and 
you  will  hardly  claim  that  your  evening  at  euchre  has 
added  much  to  your  knowledge  of  life  or  to  your  real 
working  efficiency.  In  a  word,  then,  your  hours  for 
work  or  study  are  reduced  to  nine  a  day,  whereas  mine 
number  seventeen,  or  almost  twice  as  many. 

"I  think,  then,  that  you  can  see  where  the  argument 
lands  us,  even  supposing  that  our  brains  are  of  the  same 
quality,  and  our  working  hours  equally  effective.  A  very 
simple  use  of  mathematics  will  show  you  that  I  am 
older  in  hours  than  you  are,  and  that  hence  I  should 
have  a  fuller  mental  equipment,  a  wider  store  of 
knowledge,  a  more  mature  view  of  life.  Q.  E.  D.,  as  we 
used  to  say  in  the  geometry  class. 

*'0f  course,"  he  concluded  smihngly,  "you  may 
really  be  a  whole  lot  wiser  than  I,  for  your  brain  may 
be  so  much  better  than  mine  that  you  can  learn 
more  in  ten  minutes  than  I  do  in  an  hour;  but  please 
don't  assert  your  wisdom  again  on  the  score  of 
mere  age;  for  there,  as  you  see,  I  have  you  at  a  dis- 
advantage." 

I  recall  that  I  was  a  good  deal  struck  with  this  pre- 
sentation of  the  age  question  at  the  time.  Being  young 
myself  I  naturally  sided  in  sympathy  with  the  counter 
of  hours,  though  I  should  not  now  regard  his  logic  as 
unassailable.  I  should  by  no  means  admit,  for  example, 
that  hours  spent  in  familiar  discourse  at  table,  or  hours 
devoted  to  competitive  games  are  to  be  scored  over 
unqualifiedly  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  ledger  of  life- 
experience.    Yet  on  the  whole  the  argument  for  count- 

[293] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

ing  the  life  term  by  its  well-used  hours  contains  so  large 
a  germ  of  truth  that  I  have  thought  it  worth  transcribing 
here. 

After  all,  however,  this  presentation  only  serves  to 
give  graphic  illustration  to  the  familiar  truth  that  mere 
age  is  not  the  final  test  of  any  man's  wisdom  or  mental 
state.  All  about  us  in  everyday  life  we  see  men  who  have 
attained  full  maturity  of  hours,  yet  who  have  not 
achieved,  and  who  never  will  achieve  wisdom.  All 
too  many  are  the  men  who  grow  in  self-complacent 
ignorance  rather  than  in  knowledge  with  the  increasing 
hours. 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  hardly  to  be  denied  that 
the  average  man  passes  through  somewhat  clearly- 
marked  strata  of  life  with  the  increasing  decades, — 
after  adolescence,  I  mean  of  course,  and  before  the 
onset  of  senility.  Nor,  indeed,  are  such  phases  confined 
to  the  life-history  of  ordinary  men.  Men  of  genius 
exhibit  growth  and  change  none  the  less  markedly,  as 
witness  the  "periods"  of  such  painters  as  Raphael  and 
Velasquez,  or  of  such  a  writer  as  Goethe. 

We  have  cited  sundry  instances  of  men  whose  mental 
powers  seemed  unimpaired  at  the  close  of  their  eighth 
decade;  there  are  even  instances  well  authenticated 
where  a  fair  measure  of  virility  has  been  retained 
close  to  the  century  mark.  But  on  the  other  hand, 
we  need  not  go  beyond  the  common  experience  of  man- 
kind for  proof  that  most  men  show  the  weight  of  years 
even  in  their  sixth  decade.  Such  an  instance  as  that 
of  Emerson  proves  that  a  man  of  genius  of  the  most 

[294] 


THE  TEST  OF   AGE 

penetrating  mind  may  ''die  at  top"  while  his  years  arc 
not  yet  lengthened  beyond  the  normal  span. 

Obviously,  then,  the  picture  presented  in  our  text 
has  a  reverse  side.  But  indeed  I  have  more  than  once 
suggested  that  the  perennially  progressive  man  is  the 
exception,  not  the  rule.  We  may  go  further  and  admit 
that  even  the  most  progressive  mind  must  compass  a 
pretty  definite  cycle  of  evolution  and  devolution. 
Absolute  stasis  is  inconceivable,  and  v^e  must  suppose 
that  every  human  organism  is  either  progressing  or 
retrograding  every  hour  of  its  life.  In  the  history  of 
every  man  and  v^oman,  there  must  be  one  hour,  one 
instant,  when  the  mind  is  at  its  very  best;  one  apical 
moment  when  it  reaches  its  highest  height.  Beyond 
that  moment  lies  the  long  decline.  But  in  practice, 
as  I  have  pointed  out,  no  man  can  say  just  when  that 
moment  comes. 

Considering  the  known  interdependence  of  mind 
and  body,  it  might  at  first  thought  appear  that  the 
moment  of  a  man's  mental  prime  might  be  determined 
by  tests  applied  to  this  physical  organism.  But  further 
consideration  shows  the  fallacy  of  such  a  supposition. 
The  big  brain  upon  which  man's  intellectual  status 
depends  is  the  very  latest  product  of  evolution ;  whereas 
the  muscular  system  in  its  full  development  belongs  to 
the  childhood  of  the  race.  It  is  then  but  the  normal 
expression  of  the  laws  of  heredity  that  each  individual 
should  reach  his  physical  prime  long  before  he  reaches 
the  climax  of  his  mental  powers.  The  champion 
athlete  is  at  his  best  in  the  twenties,  or  at  latest  in  the 
early  part  of  his  fourth  decade.     By  thirty-five,  as  a 

[295] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

rule,  he  has  passed  his  climax  of  muscular  efficiency. 
His  muscular  system  may  at  best  seem  almost  to  "hold 
its  own"  for  another  decade. 

But  meantime  the  organism  is  entering  on  what  might 
be  termed  the  cerebral  epoch :  the  muscles  have  had 
their  day,  it  is  now  the  brain's  turn.  That  too  must 
pass  on  to  a  climactic  in  due  course ;  but  it  was  the 
chief  thesis  of  our  text  to  suggest  that,  for  the  average 
man  and  woman,  the  period  of  up-grade  might  be 
prolonged,  and  the  declining  slope  made  less  pre- 
cipitous. 


IV 


THE    LESSON    OF    HEREDITY 

[Amplifying  the  text  of  the  chapters  on  Life-Companionship, 
and  The  Coming  Generation,  pp.  210-240.] 

The  scientific  shibboleth  of  our  time  is  heredity. 
The  word  is  on  everyone's  tongue.  Viewing  a  fallen 
fellow-mortal,  it  is  quite  the  fashion  to  shake  one's  head 
and  say,  "Oh,  heredity  accounts  for  him;  blood  will 
tell."  And  with  this  formula  we  are  accustomed  to 
measure  our  fellows,  much  as  a  clerk  measures  cloth. 
And  lest  there  should  be  any  doubts  about  the  method, 
the  man  of  science  comes  to  our  aid. 

"Yes,"  he  says,  "you  are  quite  right.  Your  formula 
expresses  the  universal  principle  of  heredity.  We  word 
it  a  Httle  differently,  but  the  idea  is  the  same.  'Like 
begets  like'  is  the  way  we  put  it.  It  appHes  to  every 
living  thing  in  the  world.     Notice  this  bacillus,  for 

[296] 


THE  LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

example.  Even  as  you  observe  it  beneath  the  micro- 
scope, it  divides,  and  two  bacilli  are  there  in  place  of 
one.  This  process  it  will  continue  indefinitely,  under 
proper  conditions,  until  there  are  myriads  of  bacilli 
there,  but  every  one  will  be  precisely  like  the  first.  The 
cholera  bacillus  never  changes  into  the  bacillus  of  con- 
sumption, nor  that  into  the  bacillus  of  diphtheria. 
Each  produces  its  own  kind  and  no  other.  'Like 
begets  like!'  It  is  beautifully  simple,  unequivocally 
true,  and  of  universal  application." 

It  is  little  wonder  that  so  relatively  simple,  so  true 
and  so  sweeping  a  proposition  has  proved  alluring. 
All  universal  formulae  are  so.  But  it  should  not  be 
forgotten  that  a  seemingly  simple  principle  may  become 
very  complex  indeed,  in  its  application.  So  it  is  here. 
Indeed,  a  stumbling-block  of  most  alarming  dimen- 
sions appears  at  the  very  outset  if  we  attempt  to  apply 
the  principle  of  heredity  intelligently  to  any  higher 
organism,  in  the  fact  that  two  parents  are  to  be  con- 
sidered. These  parents  are  not  precisely  like  one  an- 
other, hence,  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  the  offspring 
must  be  either  identical  with  one  parent  and  unlike 
the  other,  or  else  identical  with  neither.  Here  theory 
wavers,  but  experience  proves  that  the  offspring  always 
combines  in  some  measure  the  qualities  of  both  parents ; 
hence,  that  it  never  is  precisely  like  either  of  them. 
What,  then,  becomes  of  the  principle  of  heredity?  It 
appears  that  like  does  not  beget  like  in  the  sense  of 
identity;  and  if  "like"  is  only  meant  to  convey  a  sense 
of  general  similarity,  it  is  altogether  too  vague  a  prin- 
ciple to  have  practical  utility. 

[297] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

In  point  of  fact,  however,  no  such  vagueness  exists. 
The  seeming  obscurity  results  partly  from  the  complex- 
ity of  the  conditions  and  partly  from  misapprehension 
of  terms.  The  explanation  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
heredity  implies  not  so  much  the  transmission  of  con- 
ditions as  of  tendencies. 

Speaking  loosely,  we  often  say  that  consumption, 
insanity,  and  heart  disease  are  hereditary.  Strictly 
speaking,  the  statement  is  never  true.  An  inherent 
weakness  or  susceptibility  of  lungs,  brain,  or  heart — a 
tendency  towards  disease  of  these  organs — may  be 
transmitted,  but  not  the  diseases  themselves.  And  so 
of  other  conditions.  The  word  tendencies  is  our  open 
sesame.  Two  parents  having  qualities  unlike  and 
often  mutually  exclusive  cannot  transmit  these  qualities 
to  their  common  offspring;  but  they  can  transmit  all 
their  tendencies  to  that  offspring,  even  though  these 
tendencies  be  antagonistic. 

An  organism  cannot  he  two  things  at  once,  but  it 
may  tend  to  be  many  different  things;  antagonistic 
tendencies  within  it  constantly  struggling  for  the 
mastery.  And  aided  by  external  conditions,  the  ten- 
dencies at  one  time  subordinate  may  at  another  time 
become  dominant.  Failing  of  such  favorable  condi- 
tions, tendencies  may  keep  up  an  unequal  and  seemingly 
inefhcient  struggle  throughout  the  lifetime  of  an  in- 
dividual, without  once  making  themselves  manifest, 
and  yet  be  transmitted  to  the  offspring  with  such 
potential  force  as  there  to  become  operative. 

To  illustrate:  If  one  parent  has  black  eyes,  the 
other  blue,  it  is  evident  that  both  cannot  transmit  the 

[298] 


THE   LESSON  OF   HEREDITY 

color  of  the  eyes  to  their  child.  But  one  may  transmit 
a  tendency  to  black  eyes,  the  other  a  tendency  to  blue, 
and  according  as  one  tendency  or  the  other  proves  the 
stronger,  the  child  will  have  black  or  blue  eyes.  Suppose 
the  black-eye  tendency  prevails  for  the  moment — that 
is,  for  that  individual.  The  blue-eye  tendency  is  not 
eliminated;  though  dormant  for  that  generation,  it 
may  reassert  itself  so  strongly  that  a  child  of  the  next 
generation  will  have  blue  eyes  though  both  its  parents 
have  black  eyes. 

Nor  is  this  all.  A  tendency  may  remain  dormant, 
and  perhaps  unsuspected,  not  merely  for  one  but 
sometimes  for  many  generations,  becoming  at  last 
manifest  again  in  a  remote  descendant.  And  this  is 
as  true  of  mental  and  moral  tendencies  as  of  physical. 
In  short,  the  observed  facts  would  seem  to  warrant  the 
conclusion  that  the  organism  never  relinquishes  any 
tendency  it  has  once  acquired,  but  holds  it  in  stock, 
if  need  be,  generation  after  generation,  awaiting  a 
favorable  opportunity  to  herald  it  forth.  Only  by  such 
a  supposition  can  we  explain  the  commonly-observed 
fact  of  inheritance  from  remote  ancestors,  or,  as  Darwin 
termed  it,  atavism. 

Manifestly,  then,  we  shall  greatly  err  if  we  attempt 
sweeping  estimates  of  a  child's  hereditary  tendencies 
from  a  study  of  its  parents  alone.  Nor  will  it  suffice 
to  turn  to  grandparents,  or  even  great-grandparents. 
Atavism  assuredly  reaches  far  back  of  these.  But  if 
we  invoke  a  remoter  ancestry,  we  shall  be  dum- 
founded  at  the  response.  Behold  them!  There  were 
eight  great-grandparents;  thirty-two  individuals  in  the 

[299] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

generation  before  that;  then  64,  128,  256.  We  have 
reached  back  only  to  the  time  of  the  Pilgrim  fathers. 

And  still  they  accumulate,  these  unavoidable  an- 
cestors. In  the  tenth  generation  they  number  a  thou- 
sand, omitting  an  unimportant  dozen  or  two  for  the 
sake  of  round  numbers;  in  the  twentieth  generation 
they  are  an  army  of  a  million.  And  this  is  going  back 
only  to  the  twelfth  or  thirteenth  century.  One  need  go 
but  little  further  and  the  seemingly  unassailable  mathe- 
maticals  will  name  him  an  ancestry  co-extensive  with 
the  entire  population  of  the  globe. 

Thus  are  we  all  proven  brothers  in  fact  as  well  as 
name.  Thus  is  the  antiquarian  justified  who  had 
traced  his  ancestry  down  to  the  beginning  of  the  seven- 
teenth century,  but  there  lost  it ;  in  truth  he  can  scarcely 
have  gone  amiss  up  to  that  time.  Seventeenth,  eigh- 
teenth and  nineteenth  century  genealogies  are  for 
parvenus. 

But  behind  the  jest  lie  sober  realities  of  the  most  far- 
reaching  import.  Admitting  that  when  examined 
critically  our  computation  is  somewhat  shorn  of  its 
astounding  proportions  by  marriages  of  consanguinity, 
the  fact  remains,  beyond  all  levity,  that  every  human 
being,  high  or  low,  has  had  within  recent  times  a  mul- 
titude of  ancestors  in  direct  line  of  descent.  Marriages 
of  consanguinity  being,  perhaps,  most  frequent  in 
circles  of  royalty,  probably  the  persons  who  have  the 
fewest  ancestors,  and  of  whom,  therefore,  as  we  shall 
see  presently,  we  should  expect  the  least,  are  kings  and 
their  kith. 

And  yet  the  aristocrat  is  wont  to  look  down  upon  the 

[300] 


THE  LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

plebeian  because  he  has  no  ancestors!  He  means,  of 
course,  that  the  plebeian  docs  not  know  the  name  of 
his  ancestors.  But  what  does  he  know  of  his  own? 
Sir  John  Jones  boasts  loudly  of  his  lineage  because  he 
knows  the  names  of  his  little  line  of  Jones  ancestors  for, 
say,  ten  generations  back.  He  holds  in  contempt  poor 
Smith  who  cannot  bring  documentary  evidence  that  he 
had  a  great-great-grandfather. 

But  has  Jones  at  his  tongue's  end  the  records  of  all 
of  the  other  fifteen  of  his  own  ancestors  of  that  fourth 
generation  whose  names  were  not  Jones  ?  I  venture  not. 
But  even  if  he  had,  what  does  he  know  of  that  boasted 
tenth  generation  ?  Why,  that  one  member  was  named 
Jones.  But  what  of  the  1,023  other  individuals  who 
make  up  the  remainder  of  the  phalanx?  The  ancient 
Jones  may  have  been  a  very  great  man  indeed,  but  he 
represents  less  than  one-tenth  of  one  per  cent,  of  the 
present  Sir  John's  ancestors  of  that  single  tenth  gen- 
eration. 

Fortunate  is  it  for  Sir  John's  peace  of  mind  that  he 
does  not  know  the  others,  for  it  is  many  chances  to  one 
they  were  a  motley  crew,  scattered  in  all  parts  of  the 
globe.  Not  improbably,  there  were  a  few  Turks  and 
Arabs,  and  a  Negro  or  two  in  the  company,  and  it 
is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  a  few  score  of  them  were 
vassals  or  slaves  to  some  of  poor  Smith's  illustrious 
but  now  forgotten  ancestors  of  that  same  genera- 
tion. 

But  whether  kings  or  vassals  matters  not  for  our 
purpose.  It  is  only  important  to  recall  that  these 
multitudinous    ancestors    existed.      And    there    they 

[301] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF   HAPPINESS 

surely  are,  ready  to  be  summoned  at  a  moment's  notice 
by  the  simplest  computation.  Making  fullest  con- 
cessions to  consanguineous  marriages — say  by  reducing 
the  number  one-half — there  still  remain  more  than  one 
thousand  shades  to  answer  the  roll-call  of  each  and 
every  individual's  ancestors  within  ten  generations  past. 
And  the  principle  of  atavism  is  at  hand  to  prove  that 
any  particular  tendency  of  any  one  of  these  ancestors 
may  crop  out  unexpectedly  after  being  long  suppressed ; 
nay,  more,  that  all  the  multitudinous  tendencies  of  all 
these  ancestors  must  be  represented — though  combined 
and  modified — in  the  personality  of  each  Smith  and 
Jones,  and  X,  Y  or  Z  of  to-day. 

An  awful  thought,  is  it  not  ?  What  wonder  that  we 
poor  conglomerate  mortals  are  torn  by  doubts  and 
uncertainties,  and  contradictory  aspirations  and  con- 
flicting passions?  What  wonder  that  consistency  is 
rarest  of  jewels?  The  wonder  is  rather  that  we  can 
manage  to  spin  any  continuous  or  rational  thread  of 
life  at  all  out  of  such  a  tangle  of  unmiscible  tendencies. 
"Like  begets  like"  has  ceased  to  be  the  simple  prin- 
ciple that  it  seemed. 

It  appears,  then,  to  use  a  graphic  illustration,  that 
every  individual  represents  the  apex  of  an  inverted 
pyramid  of  descent,  whose  base,  extending  back  into 
history,  at  some  point  coincides  with  the  base  or  a 
sectional  plane  of  the  ancestral  pyramid  of  every  other 
individual  of  his  race.  Why,  then,  since  the  same 
principle  has  applied  to  all,  are  not  the  apices  all 
identical?  How  has  the  principle  ''hke  begets  like," 
applied  to  a  common  ancestry,  produced  such  a  diver- 

[  302  ] 


THE  LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

sity  of  descendants?  Heredity,  unaided,  can  give  but 
one  answer  to  this  question.  It  is  because  the  elements 
of  this  conglomerate  ancestry  have  not  been  mixed 
equally.  In  other  v^ords,  because  of  marriages  in 
different  degrees  of  consanguinity. 

The  answer  is  not  sufficient,  yet  it  can  account  for 
much.  Let  us  examine  it  before  seeking  for  other 
causes. 

In  the  nature  of  the  case,  if  men  are  all  descended 
from  a  common  stock,  all  marriages  must  be  in  some 
degree  of  consanguinity.  But  the  degree  may  vary 
from  the  incestuous  union  of  brother  and  sister,  which 
was  legalized  among  the  ancients,  or  the  marriage  of 
cousins,  which  is  the  limit  fixed  by  most  modern 
civilizations,  to  the  usual  cases  in  which  all  trace  of 
relationship  has  long  since  been  lost. 

At  first  sight,  it  is  perhaps  not  apparent  why  marriages 
in  close  degrees  of  consanguinity  should  be  of  especial 
significance  in  their  bearing  on  the  problems  of  heredity. 
But  a  moment's  reflection  will  make  this  plain.  In  the 
first  place,  a  consanguineous  union  greatly  restricts 
the  variety  of  tendencies  of  the  descendants.  A  person 
whose  parents  are  cousins,  for  example,  has  only  six 
great  grandparents,  instead  of  the  normal  number  of 
eight;  and  thus,  to  carry  the  computation  no  farther 
than  that  generation,  his  aggregate  tendencies  are 
restricted  in  diversity  by  one-fourth — in  itself  a  serious 
matter.  And,  in  the  second  place,  certain  of  these 
restricted  tendencies  may  be  accentuated  in  a  way  that 
may  be  yet  more  serious.  These  are  the  tendencies  of 
two  grea-t-grandparents  in  whom  both  lines  of  descent 

[303] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

meet,  and  who  therefore  count  as  four  persons  in  reckon- 
ing the  child's  inherited  possibihties. 

The  offspring  of  cousins  may  therefore  be  theo- 
retically expected  to  have  (i)  less  than  the  average 
diversity  of  tendencies,  and  (2)  an  abnormal  instability 
of  tendencies,  due  to  the  accentuation  of  certain  groups. 
And  here  practical  observation  fully  sustains  theory. 
It  is  by  the  application  of  these  principles  that  all  the 
specialized  races  of  domestic  animals  have  been  so 
rapidly  developed. 

This,  then,  I  say,  is  the  only  answer  which  heredity 
alone  can  give  as  to  why  individuals  vary  in  their  tend- 
encies and  qualities.  The  answer  does  not  seem  suffi- 
cient, for  to  be  tangible  it  is  evident  that  the  unions  must 
be  in  close  consanguinity,  and  it  is  well  known  that 
such  unions  arc  everywhere  exceptional.  Even  bar- 
barians go  to  outside  families,  and  even  to  outside  tribes 
for  wives.  But  aside  from  this  objection  the  argument 
contains  a  fallacy  in  that  an  element  not  accounted  for 
by  heredity  alone  has  been  introduced  unwittingly. 
And  in  some  respects  the  interpolation  is  of  more 
importance  than  the  original  document. 

Let  us  look  more  critically.  We  have  just  assumed 
that  every  individual  inherits  all  the  tendencies  of  all 
his  ancestors.  If,  then,  all  the  tendencies  of  the  race 
were  represented  in  that  remote  common  ancestry  to 
which  we  are  referring,  and  all  these  tendencies  again 
were  epitomized  in  each  and  every  descendant,  it  is  not 
apparent  why  it  should  make  much  difference  whether 
a  being  has  six  great-grandparents  or  eight,  since  the 

[304] 


THE   LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

two  ancestors  who  would  be  doubly  represented  in  the 
curtailed  generation  would  doubly  represent  exactly 
the  same  focalized  group  of  tendencies  as  would  be 
represented  by  any  other  two  persons.  And  yet  we 
know  that  consanguineous  unions  do  make  a  difference 
in  practice. 

We  have  come  to  another  stumbling  block.  But  the 
explanation  is  not  far  to  seek,  though  it  lies  partly  out- 
side the  domain  of  heredity.  We  have  said  that  every 
individual  comes  into  the  world  with  possibilities 
representing  the  sum  of  all  the  tendencies  of  all  its 
ancestors.  This  formula  is  certainly  at  once  correct  and 
comprehensive.  It  would  be  a  misuse  of  language  to 
speak  of  inheritance  of  a  tendency  not  represented  in 
some  ancestor,  near  or  remote.  But  the  same  formula 
does  not  represent  fully  the  personality  of  the  same 
individual  when  he  has  grown  to  adult  life,  for  then  we 
must  say,  The  sum  of  all  the  tendencies  of  all  ancestors 
plus  certain  qualities  developed  in  the  present  genera- 
tion through  contact  with  a  definite  environment.  And 
these  acquired  qualities  we  are  bound  to  believe,  not- 
withstanding the  dissent  of  a  certain  school  of  modern 
biologists,  are  represented  in  the  sum  of  tendencies 
which  this  individual  transmits  to  his  progeny.  It  is 
as  if  an  ancestral  estate  received  additions  with  each 
generation  of  holders.  Only  it  must  be  remembered 
that  the  additions  are  not  necessarily  improvements. 
There  are  minus  as  well  as  plus  quantities  in  our 
problem  of  heredity. 

Not  only  may  new  tendencies  be  thus  added  gen- 
eration after  generation,  but  the  old  tendencies  may  be 

L305] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

given  new  significance,  certain  ones  being  developed 
under  a  fostering  environment  till  they  preponderate 
as  they  had  never  done  in  a  previous  generation ;  other 
tendencies  being,  of  course,  proportionately  pushed 
into  the  background. 

Manifestly,  then,  this  new  factor  of  environment  is  a 
force  to  be  reckoned  with.  It  is  the  variable  quantity 
which  is  introduced  into  the  personal  equation  of  every 
creature,  to  be  considered  along  with  the  fixed  quantity, 
hereditary  tendencies.  And  as  this  variable  can  never 
be  exactly  the  same  for  any  two  organisms  in  the  world, 
it  follows  that  no  two  personalities  can  ever  be  identical. 
Thus  it  appears  that  the  diversity  of  individuals  and  of 
races,  which  is  the  observed  condition  of  organic  nature, 
has  come  to  pass  primarily  through  environment,  not 
through  heredity. 

Now  it  is  manifest  why  it  does  make  a  difference 
whether  one  has  six  or  eight  ancestors  of  the  third 
generation,  for  the  two  additional  ancestors  would  have 
brought  certain  tendencies  that  had  been  developed  by 
the  specific  environment  of  their  particular  lines  of 
recent  ancestors,  which  must  necessarily  have  varied 
somewhat  from  the  tendencies  of  each  of  the  other 
ancestors  of  that  or  any  other  generation.  The  remote 
or  fundamental  tendencies,  inherited  from  the  common 
ancestry  far  removed,  would  have  been  the  same  in  all ; 
the  points  of  difference  pertain  to  certain  less  funda- 
mental, but  scarcely  less  important,  fines  of  special 
development. 

And  these  additional  tendencies,  as  we  have  seen, 
are  not  to  be  set  down  to  the  credit  of  heredity,  but  to 

[306] 


THE  LESSON   OF  HEREDITY 

that  of  environment.  And,  indeed,  if  we  were  to  carry 
the  analysis  back  along  exactly  the  same  lines  to  include 
the  remote  ancestors  and  their  fundamental  tendencies, 
we  should  find  that  exactly  the  same  arguments  apply 
there  with  equal  force.  Time  was,  in  the  far  past,  when 
these  qualities,  which  we  now  term  fundamental 
because  they  are  of  long  standing,  were  in  their  turn 
developing;  and  we  are  bound  to  believe  that  they  also 
were  developed  primarily  through  the  influence  of 
environmental  forces,  acting  on  a  responsive  organism. 
In  fact,  all  that  we  can  know  of  life  and  mind  is  the 
reaction  of  a  certain  kind  of  matter  to  the  impinging 
forces  of  its  environment. 

In  this  view,  the  most  that  can  be  said  for  heredity 
is  that  it  has  held  a  kind  of  receptacle  into  which  ten- 
dencies as  they  were  developed  were  thrown  for  safe 
keeping.  It  has  developed  nothing,  originated  nothing; 
but  it  has  been  a  most  faithful  Lord  High  Keeper  of 
the  Treasury,  for  it  has  let  no  single  precious  tendency 
escape  when  once  it  had  been  acquired. 

The  function  of  heredity,  then,  is  the  retention  and 
transmission  of  tendencies.  This  function  it  performs 
with  the  most  absolute  impartiality.  It  sees  to  it  that 
each  quality  of  an  individual — whether  dominant  or 
subordinate,  patent  or  latent — is  represented  in  the 
progeny  of  that  individual.  It  can  do  no  more;  its 
mission  is  completed  for  that  generation ;  it  must  leave 
the  plastic  material  for  the  great  moulder,  environment. 

And  the  forces  of  environment  come  to  the  attack 
right  vigorously.  But  they  also  have  their  limitations. 
Certain  general  characteristics  of  body  and  mind  have 

[307] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

been  so  ingrained  in  the  race  through  persistent  repeti- 
tion that  they  can  by  no  possibihty  be  greatly  altered 
in  a  single  generation.  All  the  tendencies  of  all  the 
ancestors  near  and  remote  coincide  in  the  direction  of 
these  qualities.  The  transforming  power  of  environ- 
ment must  turn  chiefly  to  those  newer  tendencies  which 
have  been  developed  in  recent  generations,  and  to  a 
decision  between  antagonistic  tendencies. 

And  yet  even  the  primordial  tendencies  are  not  alto- 
gether beyond  the  pale  of  environment,  because  none 
of  them  is  absolutely  fixed  by  heredity.  Take  the  matter 
of  stature,  for  example.  The  ancestral  tendencies  vary 
within  a  limit  of  many  inches.  Some  ancestors  have 
been  perhaps  but  four  feet  tall;  others  have  been 
nearer  seven  feet.  But  there  is  a  strong  average 
tendency  perhaps  towards  a  stature  of  between  five  and 
one-half  and  six  feet.  Within  these  limits,  environ- 
ment may  under  ordinary  circumstances  decide.  Nutri- 
tional conditions  during  infancy,  childhood,  and  ado- 
lescence— the  presence  or  absence  of  disease  at  critical 
periods,  and  the  like — will  determine  the  exact  stature 
in  the  individual  case,  just  as  general  nutritional 
conditions  have  determined  the  average  stature  of 
different  races  of  men — the  Esquimaux,  for  example, 
or  the  Patagonians. 

And  what  is  true  of  the  physical  stature  is  equally 
true,  mutatis  mutandis,  of  the  mental  and  moral  stature. 
But  the  fact  that  the  stature,  physical,  mental  and  moral, 
is  fixed  at  a  certain  limit  for  one  individual,  does  not 
irrevocably  fix  the  limit  for  the  offspring  of  that  in- 
dividual.    Each  individual  case  changes  the  average 

[308] 


THE  LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

of  tendencies,  of  course,  but  it  docs  not  eliminate  the 
old  tendencies;  and  these  old  tendencies,  reacting  to  a 
changed  environment,  may  produce  a  very  different 
individual  result  in  a  succeeding  generation. 

The  average  results,  in  deviation  from  the  old  average, 
only  assume  permanence  when  the  race  is  subjected 
generation  after  generation  to  the  conditions  that  first 
wrought  an  individual  change.  The  Esquimaux,  for 
example,  have  come  to  be  a  race  of  relative  dwarfs 
because  their  environment  has  for  generations  been 
defective  from  a  nutritional  standpoint.  But  no  doubt 
atavism  still  holds  for  them  the  tendency  of  remote 
ancestors  to  larger  stature,  and  under  changed  me- 
teorological conditions  they  would  doubtless  return 
gradually  to  the  old-time  average. 

But  even  under  conditions  as  they  exist,  environment 
has  not  changed  the  physical,  mental  or  moral  qualities 
of  this  race  in  kind,  but  only  in  degree.  The  broad 
synoptical  outline  of  qualities  inherited  from  the  remote 
common  ancestry  are  still  the  same  as  those  of  every 
other  race  of  human  beings  in  the  world.  It  is  the 
specific,  the  newer,  and  hence,  on  the  whole,  the  less 
essential  qualities  that  differ. 

If  this  is  true  of  different  races  of  men,  it  must  be  far 
more  tangibly  true  of  the  extremes  of  the  same  race, 
who  live  under  conditions  much  less  widely  variable 
than  those  that  separate  the  races.  Caucasian  and 
Esquimau  must  perhaps  go  back  millennia  to  find  a 
common  ancestor;  but  the  lord  of  the  manor  and  his 
lowliest  servant  have  probably  had  common  ancestors 
within  a  few  centuries  past.    Not  merely  their  funda- 

[309] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

mental  tendencies  then,  but  many  of  the  more  special- 
ized tendencies  are  inherently  the  same  in  both.  The 
familiar  traditional  tales,  doubtless  some  of  them 
founded  on  fact,  of  infants  of  beggars  and  princes  being 
transposed  in  the  cradle  without  subsequent  discovery, 
illustrate  this  fact  perhaps  as  forcibly  as  a  more  sober 
argument  could  do. 

If  further  proof  were  needed,  one  has  but  to  turn 
to  the  records  of  common  every-day  experience,  and 
analyze  the  characteristics  of  such  representatives  of 
the  extremes  of  contemporary  society  as  are  personally 
known  to  him.  He  will  find  the  same  general  physical 
qualities,  the  same  general  mental  qualities,  above  all 
the  same  general  moral  qualities  at  each  end  of  the 
social  scale. 

Why? 

Because  these  general  qualities  have  had  the  stamp 
of  approval  of  myriads  of  common  ancestors.  The 
details  of  specialization  differ  widely,  of  course;  as 
widely  in  mental  and  moral  directions,  as,  for  example, 
the  unkempt  beard  and  ragged  clothes  of  the  one 
differ  from  the  waxed  moustache  and  fashionable 
suit  of  the  other.  Such  differences  have  been  wrought 
by  different  recent  environing  conditions,  but  far  more 
significant  likenesses  have  been  retained.  The  lovers 
of  Mary  Ann  settle  their  rival  claims  by  resort  to  fisti- 
cuffs; the  lovers  of  Priscilla  by  innuendo,  or  repartee, 
but  the  principle  is  the  same.  The  hero  of  the  Bowery 
stage  overcomes  the  villain  perhaps  by  blows,  at 
least  by  physical  prowess;  the  Broadway  hero  tri- 
umphs tlirough  more  subtle  and  intellectual  processes. 

[310] 


THE   LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

But  the  essential  thing  is  that  in  each  case  the  hero 
must  triumph.  He  may  swagger  with  hands  in  pockets, 
or  perhaps  boast  and  swear  in  choicest  Bowery  dialect ; 
his  pathos  may  be,  for  more  refined  ears,  suspiciously 
like  bathos;  his  courage  may  be  bravado;  but  always, 
in  the  intellectual  eye  of  his  audience,  he  must  be  an 
approach  to  an  ideal  hero,  good,  noble,  aspiring,  or 
he  cannot  receive  the  plaudits  of  even  the  worst  audi- 
ence. 

Why? 

Because  we  look  to  stage  and  story  for  ideals,  and  the 
same  ideal  aspirations  have  been  inherited  from  remote 
common  ancestors  by  both  extremes  of  our  social  life. 

The  fact,  then,  is  everywhere  patent  that  heredity 
accounts  for  the  sameness  of  our  race,  not  for  the 
differences.  The  latter  are  the  work  of  environment. 
It  is  further  true  that  it  is  the  plan  of  Nature — to  use, 
for  convenience'  sake,  the  old  language  of  teleology — 
to  avoid  extremes  and  keep  as  near  as  may  be  to  the 
happy  mean  through  the  aid  of  heredity.  It  is  as  if  she 
looked  with  equal  affection  upon  every  tendency  once 
implanted  in  a  race  of  her  creatures,  and  strove  always 
to  aid  the  tendencies  that  were  for  the  moment  sub- 
ordinated. To  accomplish  this  end  she  adopts  a  very 
simple  but  very  effectual  expedient.  We  express  this 
expedient  commonly  in  the  saying  that  opposites  at- 
tract. This  means,  in  the  hght  of  what  we  have  just 
seen,  that  a  person  is  drawn  towards  a  person  of  the 
opposite  sex  whose  predominating  tendencies  cor- 
respond to  his  subordinated  ones.  By  this  means 
tendencies  subordinated  in  one  generation  are  rein- 

[311] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 

forced  and  become  dominant  in  the  next;  by  this 
means,  in  other  words,  atavism  is  accompHshed. 

Note,  as  practical  illustrations,  how  the  tall  man 
is  attracted  by  small  women,  blonde  by  brunette, 
genius  by  mediocrity.  It  is  even  matter  of  common 
experience  that  the  most  virtuous  young  women  are 
often  fascinated  by  the  opposite  moral  traits  in  their 
male  associates,  while,  contrariwise,  the  most  vicious 
of  men  would  always  choose  virtuous  helpmates  if  they 
could.  Thus,  within  the  ranks  of  any  caste  of  society, 
there  is  a  constant  effort  to  equalize  the  average 
tendencies  and  bring  back  that  hereditary  balance 
which  environment  is  forever  tending  to  disturb. 

A  like  effort  in  a  wider  way  is  manifest  in  balancing 
the  castes  themselves.  For  every  specialized  develop- 
ment far  in  one  direction,  brought  about  through  a 
pampering  environment  aided  by  consanguineous 
marriages  or  marriages  of  expediency,  carries  its  own 
Nemesis,  in  the  fact  that  growing  instability  always  goes 
hand  in  hand  with  extreme  development.  We  noted 
how  specialized  races  of  domestic  animals  have  been 
rapidly  developed  by  special  environment  and  artificial 
selection  (corresponding  to  marriages  of  expediency), 
and  now  we  have  further  to  note  that  the  specialized 
race  so  developed  is  always  an  unstable  race  as  com- 
pared with  the  mother  stock  from  which  it  has  sprung. 
Only  by  a  perpetually  pampering  environment  and  a 
selective  in-breeding  of  an  unnatural  kind  can  it  be 
kept  from  reverting  through  atavism  to  the  original 
type;  and  if  it  is  allowed  to  return  to  natural  environ- 
mental conditions,  it  immediately  does  begin  to  return 

[312] 


THE   LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

to  the  old-time  average  status — as  witness  the  wild 
horse. 

All  this,  of  course,  is  explained  easily  through  the 
struggle  for  existence  and  its  resulting  natural  selection. 
Now  exactly  the  same  thing  occurs  among  human 
families  under  similar  conditions.  The  best  illustration 
is  afforded  by  the  uniform  history  of  royal  dynasties. 
Founded  usually  by  some  person  who  combined  rare 
and  desirable  hereditary  tendencies,  they  are  per- 
petuated by  tradition,  under  an  enervating  environment, 
to  whose  undermining  influences  are  added  the  like 
influences  of  marriages  of  expediency  and  often  of 
consanguinity,  until  in  a  few  generations  the  inevitable 
result  is  reached  of  ill-balanced  offspring,  often  brilliant 
in  certain  useless  directions,  as  often  insane,  who  are 
unfitted  to  rule,  and  who  are  presently  supplanted, 
despite  tradition,  by  some  strong  offshoot  of  the  family, 
or  some  entire  outsider,  whose  descendants  will  in 
turn  reenact  the  same  cycle  of  degeneration. 

In  a  lesser  degree,  this  same  cycle  is  to  be  witnessed 
in  the  family  histories  of  those  upper  strata  of  society 
that  are  always  prone  to  model  after  royalty.  The 
degeneration  and  frequent  extinction  of  our  "oldest 
and  best  families,"  with  the  concomitant  rise  of  new 
families,  is  an  illustration  within  the  experience  of 
everyone.  But  everywhere  it  is  the  same  story :  through 
environment,  primarily,  are  the  changes  wrought: 
through  heredity — especially  as  exemplified  in  atavism 
— is  the  stability  of  the  race  maintained.  These  two 
forces  are  respectively  the  Radicals  and  the  Conserv- 
atives of  Nature.    The  one  insures  progress,  the  other 

[3^3] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

prevents  evolution  from  taking  such  strides  as  would 
lead  the  race  to  disaster. 

In  one  sense,  perhaps,  we  are  all  "born  criminals," 
for  we  inherit  from  remote  ancestors  traits  that  if  they 
had  free  play  would  ill  accord  with  the  customs  of  our 
modern  civilization.  The  child  who,  in  a  moment  of 
impotent  anger,  claws  viciously  at  the  face  of  its  mother 
manifests  an  emotion  no  different  from  that  with  which 
the  remote  feudal  ancestor  fell  upon  his  enemy  and  gave 
him  battle.  The  proverbial  cruelty  of  children  to 
animals  is  perhaps  reminiscent  of  those  days  when  the 
ancestors  of  the  race  lived  by  the  chase.  But  these  are 
single  phases  of  a  most  complex  personality.  The  same 
infant  that  at  one  moment  is  so  vicious  will  the  next 
moment  hold  up  for  the  kiss  of  the  mother  cheeks  wet 
with  penitent  tears.  The  boy  who  feels  an  instinctive 
desire  to  hurl  stones  at  a  strange  dog,  will  just  as 
instinctively  bestow  upon  the  same  dog  acts  inspired 
by  regret  and  pity  if  his  missile  unfortunately  find  its 
mark. 

The  two  sets  of  emotions  are  antagonistic,  but  they 
are  alike  ''instinctive." 

We  need  but  watch  for  an  hour  the  conduct  of  a 
child  yet  so  young  that  his  deeds  express  instead  of 
masking  his  emotions,  to  gain  tangible  evidence  of 
those  complex  hosts  of  antagonistic  tendencies  that  are 
battling  within  the  budding  mind.  And  when  we 
realize  at  its  full  value  the  fact  that  no  one  of  these 
tendencies  can,  by  any  possibility,  be  altogether  blotted 
out  from  the  personality  of  that  being  while  it  lives, 
we  shall  realize,  also,  that  such  flippant  phrases  as 

[3H] 


THE   LESSON   OF   HEREDITY 

''altogether  good,"  "wholly  bad"  and  the  Hke  have 
no  real  meaning  as  applied  to  the  complex  mind  of 
man. 

It  may  be  conceded,  of  course,  that  if  we  were  to 
classify  all  human  tendencies  by  an  ethical  standard 
into  two  groups,  every  mortal  must,  at  a  given  moment, 
strike  a  balance  for  good  or  evil,  though  most  of  us,  I 
fear,  would  be  very  close  to  the  line  at  best.  But  in  the 
light  of  heredity — of  atavism — it  can  never  be  conceded 
that  any  mortal  has  been  or  can  be  born  into  the  world 
who  has  not  inherent  tendencies  that  are  good  as  well 
as  those  that  are  bad.  From  which  follow  the  warning 
corollary  that  no  mortal  can  be  above  the  possibility 
of  temptation,  and  the  cheering  one  that  none  can  be 
beyond  the  pale  of  hope. 

And  this  is,  to  me,  the  great  lesson  of  heredity. 

He  has  but  poorly  read  the  lesson  who  will  attempt 
definitely  to  forecast  the  future  of  any  human  being. 
Only  a  false  prophet  could,  in  the  name  of  heredity, 
deny  all  hope  to  the  child  even  of  the  most  depraved 
criminals.  As  it  lies  there  in  its  cradle  even  amidst  the 
squalor  of  poverty  and  vice,  no  one  can  deny  that  it  is 
a  sweet  and  innocent  morsel  of  humanity;  and  if  con- 
templation of  its  parents  causes  us  to  shudder  for  its 
future,  we  may  obtain  a  vision  equally  valid  and  far 
more  cheering  by  letting  our  mental  retrospect  extend 
to  include  the  worthier  members  of  a  conglomerate 
ancestry. 

Of  a  certainty  there  are  good  tendencies  as  well  as 
bad  welling  up  into  that  nascent  mind.  Not  improb- 
ably there  are  many  evil  currents  sweeping  in  one  direc- 

[315] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

tion  nearest  the  surface,  but  rest  assured  there  are  deeper 
counter  currents. 

Whether  these  deeper  currents  will  ever  reach  the 
surface  is  a  question  that  lies  without  the  pale  of 
heredity.  That  delightfully  impartial  verdict  ''Blood 
will  tell"  conveyed  all  the  message  that  heredity  could 
bring.    But  which  blood — the  good  or  the  bad  ? 

Heredity  cannot  answer.  The  decision  rests  with 
environment. 

Hence  the  fundamental  mission  of  all  social  reforms 
that  go  to  the  heart  of  things  must  be  so  to  mould  the 
average  environment  of  civilization  that  in  a  larger  and 
yet  larger  percentage  of  cases  the  good  blood  rather 
than  the  bad  in  each  newest  generation  shall  be  made 
to ''tell:' 


GHOSTS    FROM    DREAMLAND 

[An  amplification  of  the  idea  summarized  in  the  opening 
paragraph  of  p.  270.I 

Most  of  us  are  accustomed  to  think  of  the  time  of 
sleeping  as  a  time  of  mental  passivity — a  time  when 
consciousness  is  altogether  absent,  or  when  at  most 
the  ill-coordinated  ideas  flit  hither  and  yon  at  their  own 
sweet  will.  But  it  is  well  to  recall  that  there  are  students 
of  the  mind  who  would  immediately  assure  us  that  in 
this  regard  the  sleep-state  differs  from  the  waking  state 
in  degree  only,  not  in  kind.  Such  critics  would  contend 
that  all  mental  action,   conscious  or  unconscious,  is 

[316] 


GHOSTS  FROM   DREAMLAND 

automatic,  predetermined  by  heredity  and  environment 
(experience);  and  that  the  mind  is  the  victim  of  self- 
illusion  in  thinking  itself  the  arbiter  of  a  train  of  thought, 
of  which  it  is  in  reahty  only  a  spectator. 

It  would  lead  us  far  afield  to  discuss  this  contention 
here,  but  everyone  may  find  for  himself  at  least  a  sug- 
gestive answer  through  a  moment's  consideration  of 
his  own  dreams. 

How  realistic,  how  life-like,  after  all,  even  the  most 
"bizarre"  dream  is.  How  familiar  is  the  sequence  of 
ideas,  how  like  to  a  train  of  thought  of  our  waking  hours. 
If  here  and  there  arises  an  unfamiliar  form,  it  is  after 
all  some  creation  of  the  imagination  modelled  along 
familiar  lines.  If  we  seem  to  do  things  that  we  have 
never  done  or  could  never  do  in  real  waking  life,  they 
at  least  are  things  that  we  can  imagine  while  awake. 
Indeed,  as  a  rule,  the  dreams  that  we  clearly  remember 
after  awaking  present  a  record  of  very  clearcut  and 
logical  lines  of  action,  even  though  involving,  for  ex- 
ample, certain  physical  feats — such  as  rising  through 
the  air  and  the  like — that  are  not  physically  possible. 

The  most  grotesque  dream  is  no  more  grotesque 
than  sundry  trains  of  thought  that  flit  through  our 
brains  in  times  of  waking  reverie. 

The  one  radical  distinction  is  that  we  know  the 
reverie  to  be  of  a  flight  of  fancy,  whereas  the  dream, 
while  it  is  passing,  seems  to  impress  itself  upon  us  as  an 
actuality.  If  in  a  normal  waking  reverie  the  mind's 
eye  pictures  an  absent  friend  or  a  dear  one  who  has 
long  been  dead  as  standing  before  us,  we  are  but  con- 
juring with  a  phantasy  of  memory — there  is  no  real 

[317] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

illusion.  But  when  the  same  form  stands  before  our 
dreaming  mentality,  its  reality  is  unchallenged;  we 
believe  ourselves  to  be  in  the  actual  presence  of  the  re- 
membered persons ;  while  we  are  dreaming  we  no  more 
doubt  the  substantiality  of  the  apparition  than  we 
doubt  the  direct  evidence  of  our  waking  senses,  when 
an  actual  person  stands  before  us. 

I  have  already  offered  a  brief  explanation  of  this 
phenomenon,  in  the  suggestion  that  the  illusion  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  the  dream  lacks  the  background  of 
varied  impressions,  memories,  and  conditioned  ideas 
that  always  give  a  more  or  less  true  sense  of  personality 
to  the  thoughts  of  the  day-dreamer.  But  we  are  not  now 
concerned  with  the  cause  of  this  phenomenon;  we  are 
concerned  with  the  fact  itself,  which  accords  with  the 
commonest  experience. 

I  suppose  there  is  no  reader  of  these  pages  who  has 
not  dreamed  of  standing  in  the  presence  of  some  friend 
who  has  long  since  departed  this  life.  At  all  events, 
such  dreams  are  not  uncommon  with  most  of  us. 
Many  students  of  the  evolution  of  human  ideas  contend 
— as  it  seems  to  me  with  no  little  reason — that  such 
dreams  as  this  are  responsible  for  some  of  the  most 
fixed  delusional  ideas  that  hold  our  race  in  subjection. 
They  believe  that  the  savage,  away  back  in  those  dim 
prehistoric  days,  was  wont  to  dream  of  meeting  his 
dead  foes  and  friends,  and  that  the  undisciplined 
child  of  nature  accepted  the  apparition  of  the  dream 
state  as  a  real  manifestation.  While  he  slept — so  he 
verily  believed — his  spirit  had  been  set  free  from  its 
fleshly  habiliments,  and  had  wandered  forth  on  ex- 

[318] 


GHOSTS   FROM   DREAMLAND 

peditions,  friendly  or  warlike,  and  in  the  strange  super- 
sensual  realm  thus  opened  up  had  met  beings  known 
to  him  of  old,  but  now  no  longer  visible  to  his  waking 
eyes. 

Such,  according  to  this  analysis,  was  the  origin  of 
that  belief  in  ghosts,  which  with  all  its  multitudinous 
expansions  and  elaborations  has  played  so  important  a 
part  in  the  history  of  human  development. 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  was  primitive  man  really  a 
dreamer?  Did  he  not  rather  sink  into  profound  and 
unbroken  sleep  as  soon  as  his  physical  needs  were 
satisfied,  oblivious  to  the  world? 

For  answer  it  may  be  noted  that  the  dream-state  is 
familiar  ground  to  every  race  of  man ;  to  all  ages  from 
childhood  to  senescence.  Nay,  more,  it  is  not  the 
exclusive  territory  of  human  sleepers.  Watch  old 
Carlo  lying  there  by  the  grate  stretched  out  in  profound 
sleep.  See  now  and  again  how  his  muscles  twitch  as  if 
in  futile  effort  to  swing  forward  in  a  gallop,  while  his 
jaws  half  open  and  a  suppressed  bark  comes  from  his 
throat. 

Can  you  doubt  that  the  dog  is  dreaming?  that 
before  his  mind's  eye  there  appears  the  image  of  some 
rabbit  that  he  chased  aforetime,  of  some  strange  cat, 
some  friend  or  foe  of  his  own  species  ? 

Even  before  our  primitive  ancestor  had  attained 
human  development,  then,  he  was  doubtless  a  dreamer; 
and  we  cannot  well  doubt  that  his  earhest  self-conscious 
picture  of  the  world  in  which  he  found  himself  included 
the  conception  of  a  second  self — an  immaterial  person- 
ality— associated  with  all  living  things,  human  and  non- 

[319] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

human  alike.    His  world  from  the  very  first  was  a  world 
peopled  with  ghosts. 

If  this  be  true,  then  we  shall  not  greatly  err  if  we 
suppose  that  the  sub-conscious  condition  of  the  dream- 
state  has  been  responsible  for  almost  as  important  a 
share  in  the  mental  development  of  our  race  as  has  been 
evoked  through  the  activities  of  the  period  of  waking. 

For  who  shall  measure  at  its  full  worth  the  power  of 
superstition,  which  has  hung  as  a  blighting  pall  over 
the  mind  of  man,  distorting  his  vision,  causing  him  to 
see  unreal  forms,  to  conjure  up  apparitions,  to  flee 
when  no  man  pursueth,  to  shrink  in  terror  from  his 
own  imaginings? 

To-day  you  and  I  know  that  the  varied  forms  we  see 
in  the  land  of  nod  are  but  tissue  of  dreams;  we  know, 
but  do  we  quite  beheve?  Is  there  not  still  upon 
us  the  spell  of  our  ancestry,  lurking  as  just  the  sem- 
blance of  a  doubt  away  back  there  in  the  recesses  of 
our  mind  ? 

The  loved  one  long  since  dead,  who  spoke  with  us 
while  we  slept — standing  before  us  in  the  old  semblance, 
speaking  with  the  old  voice— are  we  quite  sure  that  he 
does  not  really  exist  in  a  super-sensual  world?  The 
dear  friend  by  whose  sick-bed  we  stood  in  imagination 
last  night — are  we  quite  sure  that  he  may  not  be  in 
reahty  ill?  "Nonsense,  dreams  go  by  contraries,"  we 
say;  but  the  very  phrase  implies  a  deep-seated  half- 
belief  that  the  dream  has  some  occult  significance. 
At  least  we  should  be  happier  this  morning  if  we  had 
not  had  that  hideous  dream. 

Nor  is  it  our  own  self-consciousness  merely  that  has 

[320] 


GHOSTS   FROM   DREAMLAND 

been  made  to  suffer  by  the  visions  from  dreamland; 
man's  relations  with  his  fellow  man  have  been  all 
along  compromised  by  the  beliefs  in  question.  Go  back 
into  history  and  you  will  learn  that  the  old  Babylonians 
and  Assyrians  and  Egyptians  lived  in  ghost-haunted 
worlds.  Necromancy,  conjuration  were  rampant,  and 
the  non-existent  effigies  conjured  from  dreamland 
held  as  important  a  part  in  the  life  of  the  people,  as 
did  the  actual  personages  of  waking  life. 

When  an  Egyptian  died,  his  friends  must  on  no 
account  fail  to  have  his  physical  body  preserved  by 
elaborate  processes  of  embalming,  that  it  might  await 
the  ghostly  spirit  which  in  due  course  would  return  to 
re-inhabit  it. 

If  an  Egyptian  fell  ill,  he  believed  that  some  enemy 
had  practised  a  magical  curse  upon  him.  He  believed 
that  even  inanimate  things  have  ghostly  attendants; 
and  that  by  fashioning  a  likeness  of  his  enemy  in  wax, 
any  indignities  practised  upon  this  waxen  double  would 
result  in  like  injuries  to  the  enemy  himself. 

The  Egyptian  believed  equally  in  a  ghostly  super- 
sensual  part  of  animals  and  birds;  he  worshipped  a 
sacred  bull,  and  practised  the  art  of  embalming  upon 
the  bodies  of  ibises  and  cats  with  a  solemnity  that  seems 
amusing  to  those  who  have  become  skeptical  regarding 
the  immortality  of  these  creatures, — even  though  these 
same  skeptics  still  accept  the  Egyptian  conception  as 
applied  to  the  human  spirit. 

From  the  ruins  of  the  cities  of  Babylonia  and  Assyria 
have  been  exhumed  tens  of  thousands  of  tablets  graven 
with  inscriptions.     A  host  of  these  are  omens  and 

[321] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

incantations  against  evil  spirits  which,  according  to 
the  belief  of  the  time,  lurked  back  of  all  the  appearances 
of  nature. 

Greek  literature  teems  with  illustrations  of  the  same 
spirit.  The  noted  pictures  of  Charon  rowing  the 
shades  of  the  departed  to  the  shores  of  the  nether  world 
are  as  familiar  as  the  images  of  household  companions. 
Invisible  gods  dwelled  on  Mt.  Olympus,  and  per- 
petually interfered  with  the  affairs  of  men.  Iphigenia, 
about  to  be  sacrificed,  is  spirited  away,  and  a  stag 
miraculously  substituted  in  her  place.  Bacchus, 
imprisoned  by  a  mortal,  liberates  himself  by  magic, 
leaving  a  bull  in  his  stead.  Hippolytus  is  slain  by 
Neptune  in  answer  to  the  prayer  of  his  outraged  father, 
who  is  led  to  regret  his  mistake  through  revelations 
made  by  Diana  regarding  the  machinations  of  Venus. 
It  is  impossible  to  go  astray  in  seeking  for  similar 
illustrations,  anywhere  outside  the  purely  historical 
literature,  and  even  there  similar  incidents  may  be  found 
though  the  great  historians — Herodotus,  Thucydides, 
and  Xenophon — show  something  of  the  skepticism  that 
is  the  birthright  of  advanced  thinkers  in  all  ages. 

''But,"  you  say,  "surely  the  people  did  not  really 
believe  in  all  these  apparitions,  even  though  they  made 
use  of  them  in  their  literature." 

You  are  quite  wrong  there.  The  people  did  believe 
in  their  ghosts.  It  might  almost  be  said  that  the  subject 
did  not  admit  of  disbelief;  it  was  so  much  a  matter  of 
course,  that  to  doubt  would  be  like  doubting  the  exist- 
ence of  the  material  world.  Some  philosophers  there 
were,  to  be  sure,  who  professed  skepticism  regarding 

[322] 


GHOSTS   FROM   DREAMLAND 

this  material  world;  and  akin  to  their  attitude  was  that 
of  those  other  philosophers  who  in  one  measure  or 
another  doubted  the  ghosts.  For  people  in  general,  the 
question  was  probably  never  so  much  as  raised. 

And  for  that  matter,  we  may  come  very  much  nearer 
home  for  equal  credulity,  with  evidence  so  demon- 
strative that  none  can  question  it.  It  is  found  in  the 
records  of  mediaeval  times — records  that  tell  of  the 
executions  for  witchcraft.  No  one  who  reads  these 
records  can  doubt  that  the  magistrates  and  prosecutors 
of  that  time— in  common  with  the  greater  number  of 
their  educated  comtcmporaries — fully  believed  in  the 
existence  of  the  occult  practices  which  they  charged 
against  their  unfortunate  victims. 

The  last  execution  for  witchcraft  took  place  about 
two  hundred  years  ago.  But  long  after  people  had 
ceased  to  believe  in  the  active  influence  of  witches, 
they  continued  to  believe  in  so-called  demoniacal 
possession.  To  the  eighteenth  century  humanitarian, 
even,  the  insane  man  was  one  possessed  of  an  evil 
spirit. 

Such  then  is  the  train  of  ghosts  that  has  marched 
down  the  ages  in  the  wake  of  the  phantom  dream-host 
of  our  primeval  ancestor.  Said  I  not  truly  when  I 
said  that  the  influence  of  the  sub-conscious  sleep-self 
has  been  almost  as  potent  as  the  influence  of  the  waking 
mind?  For  all  these  hosts  that  so  dominated  the 
thought  of  Egyptian  and  Babylonian,  of  Greek  and 
Media^valist  are  pure  figments  of  the  imagination. 
This  is  a  world  of  realities,  not  a  world  of  ghosts.  The 
phantom  host  that  has  preyed  on  the  fancies  of  so  many 

[323] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

generations  of  men  is  a  mere  mirage-figment  that  has 
but  to  be  approached  to  vanish  into  nothingness.  Yet 
it  held  sway  for  hundreds  of  centuries. 

And  dare  we  say  that  even  to  this  day  it  has  van- 
ished ?  Dare  you  and  I  assert  that  there  is  no  chance 
field  of  our  mind  over  which  an  old-time  ghost  stands 
guard  ?  Are  we  quite  absolutely  emancipated  from  the 
thraldom  of  superstition  ? 

Are  you,  for  example,  quite  certain  that  you  could 
wander  among  the  musty  tombs  of  a  cemetery  at  night 
with  precisely  the  equanimity  that  would  attend  a  day- 
light visit  to  the  place  ?  Of  course  you  do  not  believe 
in  ghosts;  yet  perhaps  you  prefer  not  to  have  your 
skepticism  put  to  just  this  test. 

Or  again,  your  ghost-attendants  may  be  of  another 
quality.  Perchance  you  are  of  those  who  pay  revenue 
to  one  or  another  of  the  fakirs  who  profess  to  bring 
information  as  to  past  and  future  from  a  super-sensual 
world.  You  go  half-jokingly ;  you  disclaim  any  real 
belief  in  these  occult  powers — yet  you  go,  and  pay  your 
money  as  well. 

Perhaps  ten  thousand  years  of  scientific  progress 
have  placed  the  heritage  of  their  achievement  at  your 
beck  and  call;  and  in  all  that  record  there  is  not  one 
jot  of  evidence  for  the  existence  of  a  super-sensual 
ghost-world  such  as  that  you  pay  to  visit.  But  you 
prefer  to  ignore  this  fact.  You  prefer  to  class  yourself 
with  the  Babylonians  of  say  the  year  3000  b.  c.  You 
prefer  that  your  waking  mind  should  strive  to  rival 
the  sub-conscious  mind  of  sleep,  and  live  in  a  world 
of  unsubstantial  dreams. 

[324] 


GHOSTS   FROM   DREAMLAND 

Nor  is  it  the  direct  dream-world  alone  that  has  such 
influence.  These  elemental  superstitions  have  given 
us  a  long  line  of  residual  misconceptions  that  are  a 
constant  menace  to  the  sober  judgment  and  the  happi- 
ness of  mankind.  Indeed,  there  is  scarcely  any  limit 
to  the  credulity  of  the  mind  that  allows  itself  to  be 
inveigled  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  natural.  And  the 
effects  of  such  credulity  are  vastly  important  in  their 
influence  on  the  happiness  of  the  individual. 

We  are  accustomed,  indeed,  to  speak  of  superstition 
as  a  thing  of  the  past,  but  in  point  of  fact  it  would  be 
hard  to  find  an  individual  who  has  altogether  banished 
it  from  his  daily  life.  One  man  believes  in  lucky  or 
unlucky  days,  and  is  directly  influenced  in  his  everyday 
actions  by  this  belief.  Another  is  downcast  if  he  has 
seen  the  new  moon  over  his  left  shoulder.  A  third  will 
not  pass  a  pin  on  the  street  without  stooping  to  pick  it 
up,  or  is  greatly  annoyed  if  a  wayfarer  chances  to  pass 
between  himself  and  a  companion  with  whom  he  is 
walking.  And  so  on  throughout  the  absurd  and 
wearisome  list. 

Certain  classes  of  people — notably  gamblers,  specu- 
lators, and  actors — seem  peculiarly  under  the  spell  of 
superstitious  ideas,  but  it  is  hard  to  find  a  person  in 
any  calling  who  down  in  his  heart  does  not  cherish  at 
least  one  eccentric  httle  idea  which,  if  analysed,  must 
be  confessed  to  be  a  pure  superstition.  Even  if  he  openly 
tries  to  root  that  idea  out  of  his  mind,  very  likely  it 
will  still  cHng.  A  member  of  the  Thirteen  Club,  who 
prefers  to  begin  a  journey  on  Friday,  may  shudder 
in  spite  of  himself  if  he  chances  to  break  a  mirror. 

[325] 


THE  SCIENCE  OF   HAPPINESS 

Such  little  inconsistencies  are  deep-seated.  They  will 
not  vanish  at  the  bidding. 

Surely  such  grotesque  notions  do  not  make  for  happi- 
ness. Rather  do  they  serve,  reminiscent  as  they  are  of 
yet  more  befogged  eras,  like  the  conscience-cutting 
memory  of  a  would-be  forgotten  sin,  to  add  to  the 
gloomier  uncertainties  of  life.  On  occasion  their  in- 
fluence may  be  even  clearly  and  demonstrably  evil. 
For  example,  a  few  years  ago  a  report  found  currency 
in  the  newspapers  to  the  effect  that  a  distinguished 
United  States  Senator  had  said,  a  few  months  before 
he  died,  that  he  was  not  superstitious,  but  that  he 
believed  his  life  was  in  some  mysterious  way  bound  up 
with  that  of  a  certain  pine-tree  in  his  door-yard. 

This  statement  manifestly  is  as  consistent  with  itself 
as  if  one  were  to  say,  'T  am  not  afraid  of  ghosts,  but  I 
fear  them  greatly." 

The  report  goes  on  to  say  that  one  summer  the  fatal 
pine-tree  began  to  wither,  and  a  few  weeks  before  the 
death  of  the  Senator  it  died.  Accepting  the  report  as 
published,  the  event  evidently  justified  the  Senator's 
forebodings,  and  we  need  not  doubt  that  there  existed 
in  some  degree  a  causal  connection  between  the  death 
of  the  tree  and  that  of  the  man.  But  of  course  the  only 
possible  operation  of  this  cause  was  through  the  imagi- 
nation of  the  man.  Having  in  some  way  conceived  the 
absurd  fancy  that  the  tree's  life  was  bound  up  with  his 
own,  he  must  naturally  have  watched  the  withering 
of  the  tree  with  apprehension,  and  the  gloomy  fore- 
bodings thus  aroused  may  very  probably  have  been 
actively  influential  in  turning  the  scale  against  a  heart 

[326] 


GHOSTS   FROM   DREAMLAND 

already  weakened  by  disease.  In  a  sense,  it  was  super- 
stition that  killed  him. 

Of  course  this  report,  as  instanced,  may  not  be  true; 
but  whether  true  or  false  it  serves  equally  well  to  point  a 
moral,  for  if  not  true  as  an  individual  belief,  it  may 
fairly  stand  as  representative  of  the  superstitious 
beliefs  of  a  large  percentage  of  the  cultivated  people  of 
to-day. 

The  really  significant  thing,  however,  is  not  that 
superstitions  still  cling,  but  that  they  have  been  so  nearly 
banished.  The  relatively  few  that  remain  are  mere 
reminiscences  of  the  times  not  far  gone  when  super- 
stition was  rampant,  and  the  persons  who  entertain 
them  realize  their  absurdity  even  while  being  dominated 
by  them.  It  is  as  hard  to  find  a  man  who  will  ac- 
knowledge that  he  is  superstitious  as  to  find  one  who 
really  is  not  superstitious. 

Even  when  confessing  one's  little  whim,  it  is  custom- 
ary to  disavow  its  implications  in  the  same  breath.  If 
A  spills  the  salt,  and  is  detected  throwing  a  pinch  of  it 
over  his  shoulder,  he  invariably  says,  half-apologetic- 
ally,  "I  am  not  superstitious,  but  I  do  not  like  to  spill 
salt  without  at  once  throwing  some  of  it  over  my 
shoulder."  The  general  disavowal  always  precedes 
the  specific  admission,  regardless  of  the  fact  that  the 
two  are  utterly  inconsistent. 

The  act  itself  was  prima  jacie  evidence  of  a  deep- 
seated  superstitious  belief,  which,  however,  the  intellect 
repudiates.  The  repudiation  is  of  more  significance 
than  the  reminiscent  act.  It  marks  a  distinct  phase  of 
intellectual  evolution.     It  shows  our  progress  toward 

[327] 


THE  SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 

a  stage  of  culture  that  shall  fully  recognize  in  practice, 
what  is  already  admitted  in  theory,  that  law,  not 
chance,  rules  the  world. 

It  is  much,  I  repeat,  that  you  are  half  ashamed  of 
your  superstitions.  You  differ  to  that  extent  from  the 
old  Babylonian.  That  is  well,  as  far  as  it  goes.  But 
it  does  not  go  far  enough.  You  should  be  not  merely 
half  ashamed,  but  wholly  ashamed  of  these  anachro- 
nistic ideas.  An  accident  of  birth  has  placed  you  in  the 
world  in  an  age  when,  for  the  first  time  in  human 
history,  all  the  ghosts  have  been  given  quietus — have 
been  explained  away,  banished  back  to  dreamland 
whence  they  came.  A  thousand  pities,  then,  that  you 
should  choose  to  revert  to  a  dead  past,  to  shrink  from 
the  light,  to  seek  out  the  musty  realms  of  terror-haunted 
ghost -land. 

Far  more  conducive  to  your  happiness  would  it  be 
to  strive  to  live  in  the  world  of  to-day;  to  endeavor 
to  be  really  awake  while  you  are  not  sleeping,  and  to 
forget  the  dreams  which  the  sleep-state  thrusts  upon 
you;  turning  your  back  inexorably  upon  that  unsub- 
stantial pageant  which  your  primordial  ancestors  sum- 
moned into  human  society — to  the  infinite  detriment 
of  mankind — out  of  the  land  of  nod. 


[328] 


Ind 


ex 


"Now  one's  own  mind  is  a  place  the  most  free  from 
crowd  and  noise  in  the  world,  if  a  man's  thoughts  are  such 
as  to  ensure  him  perfect  tranquilh'ty  within,  and  this  tran- 
quillity consists  in  the  good  ordering  of  the  mind.  Your 
way  is,  therefore,  to  make  frequent  use  of  this  retirement, 
and  refresh  your  virtue  in  it.  And  to  this  end,  be  always 
provided  with  a  few  short,  uncontested  notions,  to  keep 
your  understanding  true,  and  send  you  back  content  with 
the  business  to  which  you  return."      — Marcus  Aurelius. 


INDEX 


"A  contented  mind,"  quotation 
with  a  comment,  p.  138. 

"A  man  that  is  young  in  years," 
etc.;  quotation  from  Francis 
Bacon  as  chapter-heading  for 
"Youth  versus  Age,"  p.   166. 

AbiUty,  the  final  test  of,  is  suc- 
cess or  failure,  p.  132. 

Absent-mindedness,  of  the  phi- 
losopher under  the  spell  of 
ideas,  p.  251. 

Acquired  habits  of  application 
may  give  mediocrity  some  of 
the  attributes  of  inherent 
genius,  p.  161. 

-(Esthetic  Sense,  the,  its  devel- 
opment as  an  aid  to  happiness, 
p.  249  scq. 

"Affinity"  between  the  sexes, 
should  be  a  matter  of  growth 
and  development,  increasing 
with  the  years,  p.  226. 

Age,  not  truly  to  be  gauged  by 
years,  hours  furnish  a  truer 
standard,  pp.  169-70;  ad- 
vanced, no  barrier  to  the 
taking  up  of  new  tasks,  exam- 
ples of  Schliemann,  Elizabeth 
Cady  Stanton,  and  Queen 
Victoria,  p.  98;  who  may 
sanely  dread  its  oncoming, 
p,  265;  the  present,  .skeptical, 
but  rich  in  achievements,  p. 
18;  limitations  recognized  by 
law  and  by  custom,  p.  167. 

Ages  of  man  and  mental  traits 
that  correspond,  pp.  167-8. 

Air,  the  curative  value  of,  p.  30. 

Alcohol,  its  influence  character- 
ized, p.  33;  sane  considera- 
tion of  its  use  by  Mediterra- 
nean races,  p.  34 ;  a  suggestion 
as  to  its  probable  deleterious 
racial  influence,  p.  35;  illusive 
belief  in  its  benefit,  p.  35; 
avoided  by  athletes  in  train- 
ing. P-  37- 


[33 


Alien,  the  word  expresses  the 
attitude  of  one  generation  to- 
ward another  no  less  than  of 
nation  to  nation,  p.  169. 

Alter  ego,  the,  advice  as  to  the  in- 
terrogation of,  p.  1 1 7  seq. 

Altruism,  how  developed,  p.  7; 
should  not  be  of  the  maudlin 
variety,  p.  261;  developed 
through  parenthood,  p.  231  scq. 

Altruistic  aspect  of  the  problem 
of  happiness,  p.  260  seq.; 
spirit,  its  cultivation  essential 
to  the  development  of  the 
highest  art,  p.  218  seq. 

Ambition,  proper  limits  to,  in 
individual  cases,  p.  136;  the 
world's  progressive  lever, 
p.  138;  misdirected,  the  cause 
of  much  unhappiness,  p.  141; 
lack  of  it  may  conduce  to  in- 
dividual happiness,  pp.  143-4. 

"An  hour  a  day,"  full  of  educa- 
tional possibilities,  but  diffi- 
cult to  secure  in  practice  be- 
cause of  defects  of  the  average 
will-power,  p.  129. 

Analysis,  habitual  .self-,  a  vi- 
cious habit,  not  conducive  to 
happiness,  p.  140. 

Anaximander,  Greek  philoso- 
pher, a  precursor  of  Darwin, 
p.  105. 

Anthology,  Greek,  see  Greek 
Anthology. 

Appendix,  p.  273  seq. 

Application,  the  power  of,  illus- 
trated by  examples  and  anec- 
dotes, p.   154  seq. 

Aristippus,  quoted  as  to  what 
philosophy  had  taught  him, 
p.  102. 

Aristotle,  an  anecdote  as  to  his 
tireless  industry,  p.  157. 

Arm,  the  human,  relative  size 
of,  as  compared  with  other 
organs,  p.  48. 

i] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Artists,  examples  of  grouping 
into  periods,  suggesting  the 
influence  of  genius  upon  geni- 
us, p.  153. 

Association  of  ideas,  the  value  of 
new  knowledge  largely  to  be 
gauged  by  the  extent  to  which 
it  sets  up  new  trains  of  ideas, 
p.  in. 

Athletes  abstain  from  tea,  coflfee, 
alcohol,  and  tobacco  when  in 
training,  p.  37. 

Athletics,  interest  in  newly 
aroused,  p.  16;  general  inter- 
est in  based  on  a  racial  need, 
p.  46-7;  in  relation  to  lon- 
gevity, p.  47. 

Athletic  sports,  the  specific 
kinds  most  to  be  commended, 

P-  53- 
Attention,  based  on  interest,  the 

key  to  the  development  of  the 

memory,  pp.  89-90. 

Average  man,  the,  his  memory  is 
good  enough  if  developed,  p. 
88. 

Avocation,  you  should  select  one 
and  cultivate  it;  suggestions 
as  to  its  character,  p.  196  seq. 

Avocations,  of  a  scientific  char- 
acter, p.  198  seq.,  of  an  artis- 
tic character,  the  possibilities 
in  this  direction  are  greater 
than  most  people  are  aware, 
p.  200  5^^. 

Bacon,  Francis,  "the  father  of 
inductive  philosophy,"  his 
classical  maxim  as  to  reading 
quoted  and  explicated,  p.  in; 
quoted  as  to  the  value  of 
hours,  as  chapter-heading  to 
"Youth  versus  Age,"  p.   166. 

"  Be  brave;  be  brave;  be  brave; 
be  not  too  brave";  the  sym- 
bolic legend  of  the  Greek 
temple  characterized  and  in- 
terpreted, p.  135. 

Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  American 
preacher  and  publicist,  his  in- 
tuitive acquisition  of  know- 
ledge, p.  103. 

Beronicius  of  Middleburgh,  said 
to  have  known  by  heart  the 


[33 


works  of  Virgil,  Cicero,  Juve- 
nal, Homer,  and  Aristophanes, 
p.  85. 

Bias  of  mind,  through  inherited 
or  environmental  prejudice; 
advice  as  to  emancipation 
from  such  bias,  p.  117  seq. 

Biographical  Dictionary,  1798, 
quoted  as  to  the  saying  of 
William  Forbes  concerning 
letters,  p.  loi. 

Blurred  vision  and  slurred  habits 
of  memorizing,  p.  99. 

Bodily  health,  makes  for  clear 
thinking,  p.  12. 

Body,  an  indolent,  finds  reflec- 
tion in  an  indolent  mind,  co- 
ordination of  this  with  bad 
habits  of  sleeping,  p.  79. 

Body,  the,  a  machine  subject  to 
fairly  well  known  laws,  p.  38; 
close  association  between  its 
nourishment  and  the  mental 
status,  p.  21;  its  every  organ 
in  a  sense  a  mind  organ,  p.  44; 
as  a  source  of  trouble,  accord- 
ing to  Plato  and  Socrates,  p. 
58;  tends  to  take  line  of  least 
resistance,  which  is  seldom 
the  line  of  progress,  p.  131. 

Books,  a  suggestion  as  to  what 
civilization  owes  to  them,  p. 
107;  the  desirability  of  search- 
ing out  their  treasures  for 
one's  self,  p.  108  seq.,  enable 
us  to  gain  the  stimulus  of  con- 
tact with  great  minds,  p.  no. 

Bolingbroke,  Viscount,  his  ex- 
traordinary memory,  pp. 
85-6. 

Boxing,  one  of  the  best  gymna- 
sium sports,  pp.  53-54. 

Boy,  a  tired  boy  furnishes  an 
object-lesson  in  profound  and 
recuperative  sleeping,  p.  69. 

Boyle,  John  (1707-62),  quoted  as 
to  the  joys  of  domestic  life, 
chapter-heading  for  ' '  Life 
Companionship,"  p.  211. 

Brahman,  the  average,  learns  to 
repeat  the  10,000  verses  of  the 
Rig- Veda,  p.  94. 

Brain,  the,  as  a  cobwebbed  re- 
ceptacle for  the  dust  of  ages, 

2] 


INDEX 


p.iiS;  development  and  health 
of  mind  absolutely  dependent 
upon,  p.  44;  condition  of  dur- 
ing sleep,  p.  67;  activity  of 
during  waking  hours  deter- 
mines largely  the  need  of  sleep, 
p.  73;  may  often  be  rested 
advantageously  by  a  brief 
mid-day  nap,  p.  80;  needs  rest 
from  grinding  cares  of  the  busi- 
ness day,  p.  195. 

Breathing,  seldom  properly  per- 
formed, p.  13;  importance  of 
proper  method  of  performing; 
advice  as  to  the  forming  of 
good  habits  of  breathing,  p. 3 1 ; 
influenced  by  corsetting,  p.32; 
the  physiology  of  breathing 
now  taught  in  our  elementary 
schools,  p.  32. 

Brilliancy  of  mind  often  of  no 
avail  unless  supported  by 
stability  of  will,  p.  128. 

Broadening  the  mind  through 
the  cultivation  of  new  inter- 
ests and  the  challenging  of 
prejudices,  p.  119. 

Budaeus  (1467-1540),  spent  some 
hours  in  study  even  on  his 
marriage-day,  p.  156. 

Bulwer  Lytton,  quoted  as  to  the 
altruistic  road  to  happiness, 
chapter-heading  to  "The 
Coming  Generation,"  p.   229. 

Bunsen,  Baron  (179 1-1860),  Ger- 
man diplomat  and  historian, 
found  time  in  the  early  morn- 
ing hours  to  compose  his  His- 
tory of  Egypt,  p.  157. 

Burnet,  Gilbert  (1643-1715),  be- 
gan work  at  four  each  morn- 
ing, p.   156. 

Burritt,  Elihu,  "  the  learned 
blacksmith"  (1811-1879). 
American  lecturer,  quoted  to 
the  effect  that  poets  are  made 
and  not  born,  p.  135. 

Caesar,  Julius  (100-44B.C.) ,  knew 
thousands  of  his  soldiers  by 
name,  p.  85. 

Callimachus  (5th  C.  B.C.) .  his  in- 
scription on  the  tomb  of  Saon, 
p.  272. 


Candies,  best  eaten  soon  after 
meals,  p.  25. 

Carbohydrates,  their  use  in  the 
dietary,  p.  25. 

Caution,  should  temper  enthu- 
siasm, p.  143. 

Chapter-headings,  see  Quota- 
tions used  as  chapter-headings. 

Character,  the  all-round  perfec- 
tionment  of,  p.  248. 

Chemical  experiments,  suggested 
as  an  aid  to  development  of 
habits  of  logical  thought  and 
precise  reasoning,  p.  115. 

Child-mind,  the  average,  is  opin- 
ionated and  resents  school 
tasks  through  lack  of  com- 
prehension of  their  impor- 
tance, p.  98. 

Child,  the,  the  rearing  of,  p.  232 
seq.;  honesty  in  dealing  with 
the  child  should  be  the  first 
principle  of  parental  action, 
p.  233  seq.;  receives  ineradi- 
cable impulses  toward  good  or 
evil  almost  before  it  leaves  the 
cradle,  p.  239. 

Cicero  cites  the  lamentation  of 
Theophrastus  regarding  death, 
p.  267;  "No  man  is  ever  so 
old  but  that  he  thinks  he 
may  live  another  year,"  p. 
268. 

Cities,  population  of,  replenished 
from  the  country,  p.  46. 

City  life,  influence  of  on  physical 
development,  p.  46;  versus 
country  life;  the  question  oi 
which  to  choose  is  one  of  the 
first  pre,sented ;  comment  there- 
on, p.  137  seq. 

City  versus  country,  divergent 
food  habits,  p.  28. 

Civilization,  the  artificial  condi- 
tions as  to  sleep  that  it  im- 
poses, p.  71. 

Clear  thinking,  prizes  for,  p.  15. 

CUmb  the  heights,  physical,  aes- 
thetic, and  philosophical,  pp. 
253-4. 

Coffee  and  tea,  mild  stimulants, 
but  often  harmful,  pp.  33, 
35,  36;  non-use  of  by  athletes 
in  training,  p.  37. 


[333] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Col  ton,  quoted  as  to  deliberation 
and  action,  p,  147. 

Common-sense,  the  popular 
name  for  judgment,  its  all- 
importance,  p.  113;  the  safe- 
ty-valve on  over-enthusiasm, 
p.  142. 

Communion  with  friends,  the 
most  certain  and  lasting  source 
of  happiness,  p.  205. 

Comparison  with  others,  the 
only  safe  test  of  ability,  and 
the  best  guide  to  self-knowl- 
ledge,  p.  136. 

Competition  furnishes  the  only 
sure  test  of  capacity,  in  physi- 
cal or  mental  world,  p    136. 

"Confidence  and  a  perfect  un- 
derstanding," the  key  to  mari- 
tal happiness,  p.  227. 

Consciousness,  the  result  of  de- 
structive chemical  changes  in 
the  brain,  p.  65;  the  voli- 
tional banishment  of,  sug- 
gested as  an  expedient  for 
warding  off  insomnia,  p.  75. 

Contact  with  gretit  minds,  the 
most  important  of  mental 
stimulants,  it  is  the  province 
of  books  to  help  supply  this 
need,  p.  no. 

Contemplative  minds,  prone  to 
build  plans  to-day  and  put  off 
action  till  to-morrow,  p   149. 

Conversation,  "the  best  of  life," 
according  to  Emerson,  p.  205. 

Country  versus  city,  divergent 
customs  as  to  food  habits,  p.  28. 

Country-life  versus  city-life, 
comment  on  the  pros  and  cons 
of,  p.  137  seq. 

Courage,  its  share  in  promoting 
happiness,  p.  247  seq. 

Creative  thinking,  inan's  sub- 
limest  privilege,  p.  119. 

Cuvier,,  Frederic  (1773-183S), 
French  comparative  anato- 
mist and  paleontologist,  the 
first  to  demonstrate  that  the 
earth  has  had  successive  popu- 
lations of  vertebrates  that 
are  now  extinct,  referred  to  as 
helping  to  prepare  the  way  for 
Darwin,  p.  105. 

[334] 


Darkness  and  silence  as  aids  to 
constructive  thinking,  the 
trained  mind  does  not  need 
such  pampering  influences, 
pp.  151-2. 

Darwin,  Charles  (1809- 1882), 
English  naturalist,  whose 
teaching,  as  first  fully  out- 
lined in  The  Origin  of  Species, 
doubtless  did  more  to  revolu- 
tionize the  character  of  inod- 
em  thought  than  that  of  any 
other  man,  the  acceptance  of 
his  views  explained,  pp.  105-6, 
p.  112;  gave  twenty  years  of 
investigation  to  his  theory  of 
evolution  before  announcing 
it  to  the  public,  p.  155. 

Day-dreaming,  an  unfortunate 
mental  habit  for  every-day 
practice,  admonitions  as  to 
breaking  the  habit  and  there- 
by acquiring  correct  habits  of 
thinking,  p.  112  seq.;  on  occa- 
sion a  highly  commendable 
recreation,  p.  252. 

Death,  a  stupendous  incident  for 
the  individual,  whatever  his 
philosophy,  p.  257. 

"Death  and  his  brother  sleep," 
p.  269. 

Defective  mental  vision,  exam- 
ples of,  p.  92. 

"Deliberate  with  caution,"  etc., 
quotation  from  Colton,  used 
as  a  chapter-heading  for  chap- 
ter "How  to  Work,"  p.  147. 

De  Maupassant,  Guy  (1850- 
1893),  French  writer,  famous 
for  his  mastery  of  the  short 
story,  believed  that  such  effort 
as  he  gave  to  the  cultivation 
of  his  art  would  insure  success 
in  any  field,  p.  155. 

Demosthenes  (ca.  383-322  B.C.), 
Greek  orator,  the  familiar 
anecdotes  as  to  his  triumph 
over  difficulties  recalled,  p.  159. 

Descartes,  Ren^  (1596-1650), 
French  philosopher,  a  pioneer 
of  modem  thinking,  his  fa- 
mous dictum  "I  think,  there- 
fore I  am"  cited  as  a  warning, 
p.  118. 


INDEX 


Desire,  the  universal  incentive 
to  action,  p.  5;  of  the  individ- 
ual must  be  subordinated  to 
needs  of  the  many,  p.  17;  to 
succeed  is  often  the  determin- 
ing factor  in  success;  some 
people  fail  to  get  on  because 
they  do  not  really  try,  p.  137. 

Diet,  should  be  varied  to  meet 
changed  modes  of  life,  p.  23; 
ineat  is  wholesome,  if  not  in 
excess,  p.  24;  the  dessert 
course  a  menace  to  the  corpu- 
lent, p.  25;  national  differ- 
ences of  taste  and  custom  as 
todiet.p.  26;  pie,  the  "crown- 
ing gastronomic  gift"  of  New 
England,  p.  26;  lavish  use  of 
delicacies  by  Americans  as 
contrasted  Mnth  relative  ab- 
stemiousness of  Latin  races, 
p.  27;  American  versatility  as 
to  changed  diet,  p.  27. 

Dietary,  of  the  nervous  child 
should  have  especial  atten- 
tion, p.  238. 

"Different  food  is  pleasant  and 
nutritious,"  etc.- — Lucretius, 
p.  20. 

Digestive  organs,  may  furnish 
the  stimuli  that  disturb  the 
brain  during  sleep  and  cause 
dreams,  p-  67 ;  proper  attention 
to,  as  an  aid  to  development  of 
good  habits  of  sleeping,  p.  76. 

Diodorus,  the  Sicilian  (2nd  half 
of  ist  Century  B.C.),  spent 
thirty  years  in  collecting  ma- 
terial for  his  history  of  the 
world,  p.  156. 

Dion  Halicarnassus  quoted  to 
the  effect  that  generous 
thoughts  do  not  attend  mis- 
ery, p.  190. 

Dionysius,  Tyrant  of  Syracuse, 
composed  odes  and  tragedies 
that  were  famous  in  antiquity 
in  the  time  which  his  associ- 
ates devoted  to  drinking  and 
play,  p.  156. 

Discontent,  the  master-builder 
of  civilization,  but  not  the 
arbiter  of  individual  happi- 
ness, p.  139  seq. 


Disrepair  of  average  muscular 
system,  p.  41. 

"Do  nothing  for  ostentation," 
etc.,  quotation  from  Pliny  the 
younger,  p.  164. 

"Do  nothing  unknowingly,"  etc. 
— Pythagoras,  p.  39. 

Dozing  in  the  morning  an  unde- 
sirable habit,  tending  to  pro- 
duce mental  languor,  p.  79. 

Dreams,  why  so  realistic-seem- 
ing, p.  66;  the  result  of  inco- 
ordinate activity  of  the  brain, 
coming  in  response  to  external 
stimuli,  J).  67;  most  frequent 
during  early  morning  hours, 
when  sleep  is  lightest,  p.  68; 
the  habitual  dreamer  is  not 
sleeping  to  best  advantage,  p. 
68. 

Dream-state,  the,  p.  66. 

Dullard,  the,  how  he  may  some- 
times outstrip  his  brilliant 
competitors,  p.  129. 

Dying,  a  pleasant  experience, 
according  to  William  Hunter, 
p.  269. 

Dying  happily  is  dependent  on 
having  lived  happily,  p.  258. 

Dyspepsia,  the  goal  of  food-fad- 
dists, p.  21. 

"Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise," 
an  obsolete  dictum  under 
modem  conditions,  p.  71. 

Eating,  the  function  of,  how 
abused,  p.  13;  time  for,  and 
racial  customs  concerning,  pp. 
27-28;  regularity  of  habit  as 
to  meal  hours  very  desirable, 
p.  28. 

Education,  its  two  branches,  ac- 
cording to  Plato,  p.  58;  its 
ultimate  aim  should  be  the 
development  of  stable  wills, 
p.  129  seq.;  of  the  child,  some 
practical  suggestions,  p.  235 
seq. 

Educational  value  of  physical 
sports,  p.  52. 

Effort,  assiduous,  as  the  road  to 
great  accomplishinent,  exam- 
ples cited  in  corroboration, 
p.  155  seq. 


[335] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Egotism,  competitive  sports 
place  healthful  check  on,  p.  53. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (1803- 
1882) ,  American  essayist,  poet 
and  philosopher,  his  daily  gar- 
nering of  ideas,  p.  14;  quoted 
as  to  the  power  of  thought,  p. 
122;  quoted  as  to  the  value  of 
enthusiasm  in  promoting  suc- 
cess, p.  141;  quoted  as  to 
the  manly  part,  p.  148; 
quoted  as  to  riches,  p.  .184; 
quoted  as  to  consumers  and 
producers,  p.  184;  quoted  as 
to  giving  a  boy  address  and 
accomplishments,  chapter- 
heading  to  "The  Coming 
Generation,"  p.  230;  "It  is 
easy  in  the  world  to -live,' 'etc., 
chapter-heading  for  "How  to 
Invite  Happiness,"  p.  241. 

Energy,  from  the  external  world, 
the  source  of  all  physiological 
action,  physical  and  mental, 
p.  125. 

Enthusiasm,  one  of  the  great 
keys  to  success,  Emerson 
quoted  as  to  its  value,  p.  141; 
should  be  tempered  with  cau- 
tion, p.  143. 

Epictetus  (ca.  8g  A.  D.),  Greek 
philosopher,  quoted  as  to  the 
mastery  of  the  appetites  with- 
out vainglory,  chapter-head- 
ing for  "Physical  Needs,"  p.  19; 
quoted  as  to  tranquillity  of  the 
soul  and  freedom  from  am- 
bition, p.  133;  "The  care  to 
live  well,"  etc.,  chapter-head- 
ing for  "How  to  Die,"  p.  255. 

Epicurus,  the  Greek  philosopher, 
third  century  B.  C,  his  fa- 
mous gardens,  p.  10;  maxims 
of,  p.  10;  consolations  of, 
through  philosophy,  p.  10;  not 
an  "epicure,"  p.  11;  his  ab- 
stemious manner  of  life,  p.  1 1 ; 
his  gardens  characterized  by  a 
German  commentator,  pp.  17- 
18;  his  own  characterization 
of  the  goal  of  his  philosophy, 
p.  18. 

Erasmus  (1465-1536),  his  habits 
of  application,  pp.  155-6. 


Eunus,  Greek  sculptor,  who  is 
said  to  have  inscribed  Hope 
and  Nemesis,  with  symbolic 
import,  on  an  altar,  p.  135. 

Evans,  Mr.  Arthur  (contempo- 
rary) ,  British  archaeologist,  his 
opinion  as  to  the  possibility 
that  man  learned  to  write  be- 
fore he  learned  to  talk,  p.  107. 

Events,  the  memorable  of  one's 
life,  why  they  are  recalled,  p. 
89. 

"Every  man  is  a  consumer,"  etc. 
— Emerson,  p.  184. 

Evils,  for  the  most  part  have 
compensations;  search  for 
them,  p.  246. 

Evolution,  the  idea  of  is  very  an- 
cient, Darwin  and  his  precur- 
sors, pp.  104-5. 

Exercise,  will  not  be  taken  habit- 
ually unless  an  element  of  in- 
terest is  introduced,  p.  52. 

Experiences,  no  man  is  wider 
than  his  experiences,  but  these 
include  second-hand  experi- 
ences gained  through  reading; 
the  idea  elaborated,  p.  106  seq. 

Explicitness  of  memorizing,  key 
to  memory-development,  p.  97. 

Face,  the,  as  the  index  to  char- 
acter, p.  245. 

Faculties,  a  harmonious  coali- 
tion of,  may  lead  to  great  ac- 
complishment on  the  part  of 
seemingly  mediocre  minds, 
p.  163. 

Faddists,  as  to  food,  doomed  to 
dyspepsia,  p.  21  seq. 

Fencing,  gives  quickness  of  eye 
and  elasticity  of  muscle,  but 
makes  for  one-sided  develop- 
ment, p.  54. 

Fixed  idea,  the,  should  be  sub- 
jected to  practical  test,  to 
make  sure  of  its  validity,  be- 
fore being  followed  too  persist- 
ently, p.  143. 

Flint,  Dr.  Austin,  the  elder  (18 12 
-1886),  American  physician, 
his  contention  that  food-fad- 
dists are  doomed  to  dyspepsia, 
p.  21. 


U2>^] 


INDEX 


Foods,  indigestible,  a  menace  to 
the  stomach,  p.  13;  the  ques- 
tion of  what  to  eat  settled  on 
common-sense  principles,  p.2 1 ; 
individual  idiosyncrasies  as  to, 
p.  22;  experience  of  humanity 
in  general  the  best  guide  as 
to  their  wholesomeness,  p.  22; 
nitrogenous,  their  use  and 
abuse,  p.  24;  how  a  distaste 
for  wholesome  foods  is  ac- 
quired, and  should  be  over- 
come, p.  23;  carbohydrates 
often  taken  in  excess,  p.  25; 
fondness  for  cakes  and  candies 
almost  a  national  vice  in 
America,  p.  25;  rational  ap- 
plication of  knowledge  regard- 
ing, p.  23;  importance  of 
water  and  air,  p.  29;  taking 
easily  digestible  food  at  bed- 
time to  ward  off  insomnia, 
p.  76. 

Food-faddists,  their  deranged 
digestion  and  mistaken  views, 
p.  22. 

Food  for  one  may  be  poison  for 
another,  according  to  Lucre- 
tius, p.  20. 

Forbes,  Wm.  (i 739-1806),  Scot- 
tish author,  quoted  as  to  read- 
ing and  meditation,  p.  10 1. 

Fortitude  versus  courage,  simi- 
lar traits  but  not  identical,  p. 
249. 

Franklin,  Benjamin  (1706-90), 
American  philosopher,  states- 
man, and  scientific  discoverer, 
his  estimate  of  the  proper 
amount  of  sleep,  p.  62. 

Friendliness,  the,  of  books,  their 
varied  and  insistent  appeal, 
p.  109. 

Friendship,  Epicurus  on,  p.  10; 
when  developed  through  avo- 
cational  pursuits  likely  to  be 
warmer  and  more  lasting  than 
business  friendship,  p.  205 
seq.;  its  pleasure-giving  ca- 
pacities, p.  205;  the  true  cable 
of  steel  between  heart  and 
heart,  p.  227. 


Galton,  Francis  (contemporary). 


British  sociologist  and  statis- 
tician, cited  as  teaching  that 
mental  influence  is  almost  es- 
sentially prerequisite  to  the 
full  development  of  scientific 
genius,  p.  154. 

Gardens,  of  Epicurus,  charac- 
terized by  a  German  commen- 
tator, pp.  17-18. 

Genius,  the  mind  of,  works  along 
the  same  lines  followed  by  the 
plodder,  p.  104;  seldom  alto- 
gether isolated  from  genius, 
examples  of  grouping  of  trage- 
dians, painters,  etc.,  p.  153; 
in  part  at  least,  a  capacity  to 
take  pains,  p.  161;  not  quite 
so  prone  to  starve  in  a  garret 
as  we  sometimes  assume;  ex- 
amples to  the  contrary,  p.  190 
seq. 

"Genius  of  accomplishment," 
dependent  upon  stability  of 
will-power,  p.  126. 

"Give  a  boy  address  and  accom- 
plishments," etc. — Emerson, 
p.  230. 

Gluttony,  kills  more  than  the 
sword,  according  to  a  Latin 
proverb,  p.  26. 

Gold  versus  Ideals;  title  of  chap- 
ter XI,  p.  183  seq. 

Gold,  the  symbol  of  ideal  things 
no  less  than  of  sordid  gratifica- 
tion of  the  senses,  p.  189;  rec- 
ollection that  it  should  be  a 
means  not  an  end  affords  the 
reconciliation,  p.  190. 

Golden  Rule,  two  Pagan  render- 
ings: (i)  by  Seneca  (ca.  4  B.C.- 
65  A.D.),  p.  146,  and  (2)  by 
Aristotle  (4th  century  B.  C), 
is  quoted  by  Diogenes  Laer- 
tius,  p.  210. 

Gray,  Asa  (18 10-1888),  Ameri- 
can botanist,  could  recall  the 
names  of  25,000  plants,  p.  93. 

Greek  Anthology,  the,  quoted 
as  to  memory  and  oblivion,  p. 
83;  quotation  from  Lucian  in, 
p.  82. 

Greeley,  Horace  (iSri-1872), 
American  editor  and  publicist; 
his  capacity  to  work  amidst 


[337] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


disturbing  surroundings,  p. 
151-2. 

Grotius,  Hugo  (i  583-1645), 
produced  some  of  his  impor- 
tant works  in  prison,  p.  156. 

Groups  of  workers  in  various 
fields,  suggesting  the  influence 
of  example,  pp.  153-4. 

Gunpowder,  its  invention  seemed 
to  take  the  premium  off  physi- 
cal strength,  p-  45. 

Gymnasium  and  library,  there 
should  be  no  rivalry  between, 

P-  45- 
Gymnasium  sports,  why  hand- 
ball, wrestling,  and  boxing  are 
the  best,  p.  53;  a  course  of 
beneficial  exercises  suggested, 
p.  55;  the  direct  benefit  of 
exercise,  p.  55. 

Habit,  the  most  powerful  of  au- 
tocrats, p.  37;  the  foundation 
of  good  bodily  habits,  p.  38; 
its  share  in  aiding  a  sleeper  to 
disregard  noises  that  recur 
regularly,  pp.  68-9;  its  share 
in  developing  a  good  memory, 
p.  90;  its  unrelenting  charac- 
ter when  once  fixed,  p.  162. 

Habits  of  awakening  spontane- 
ously at  a  given  time  may  be 
acquired,  p.  77;  of  work,  ac- 
complishment becomes  easy 
somewhat  in  proportion  as 
they  are  acquired,  p.  132;  of 
application,  accomplishment 
through,  illustrated,  p.  1545^9.; 
to  what  extent  can  habits  of 
application  be  acquired?  pp. 
162-3;  of  pleasurable  activity 
should  be  cultivated,  as  part 
of  the  daily  routine,  p.  195; 
of  sound  sleeping,  suggestions 
for  their  acquisition,  p.  70  seq.; 
once  purposeful  may  be  re- 
tained after  they  become 
motiveless,  p.  162. 

Half-genius  only,  awaits  its  in- 
spiration, according  to  Hamer- 
ton,  p.  152. 

Hamerton,  Philip  Gilbert  (1834- 
1894),  British  writer;  his  com- 
ment on  half-genius,  p.  152. 


Hamilton,  Sir  Wm.  Rowan  ( 1805- 
1865),  British  mathematician, 
a  marvel  of  precocity,  but 
owed  much  of  his  success  to 
sedulous  application,  p.  155. 

Hamilton,  Sir  Wm.  (i  730-1 803), 
English  metaphysician,  de- 
clared that  a  too  retentive 
memory  interferes  with  clear 
thinking,   p.   86. 

Handball,  one  of  the  best  gym- 
nasium sports,  p.  53. 

Happiness,  Physical  Aspects  of 
the  Problem  of,  general  title 
of  Part  I,  pp.  1-80;  Mental 
Aspects  of  the  Problem  of, 
general  title  of  Part  H,  pp. 
81-144;  Social  Aspects  of  the 
Problem  of,  general  title  of 
Part  HI,  pp.  145-208; 
Moral  Aspects  of  the  Problem 
of,  general  title  of  Part  IV, 
pp.  209-272. 

Happiness,  its  active  and  passive 
phases,  p.  8;  to  seek  it  ration- 
ally is  a  duty,  p.  8;  diverges 
widely  from  mere  sensual 
pleasure,  p.  9;  its  pursuit  not 
to  be  left  to  unguided  instinct, 
p.  9;  relation  of  good  habits  of 
sleeping  to  the  ideal  of  happi- 
ness, p.  80;  its  substance  for 
the  most  part  made  up  of  ab- 
stractions, p.  244;  essentially 
a  subjective  state,  p.  246. 

"Happiness  is  no  more  than," 
etc.,  quotation  from  Marcus 
Aurelius,  a  chapter-heading 
introducing  "The  Will  and  the 
Way,"  p.  121. 

"  Happiness  is  not  perfect  till  it  is 
shared,"  Jane  Porter,  p.  212. 

Happiness,  the  problem  of,  its 
universality,  p.  5;  chapter  on, 
pp.  5-18;  the  problem  sum- 
marized ,  pp.  1 6- 1 7 ;  the  science 
of,  outlined,  p.  17. 

"Happy  is  he  that  has  well  em- 
ployed his  time,"  quoted  from 
Seneca,  p.  165. 

Health,  of  mind,  dependent  upon 
health  of  body,  p.  44. 

Heart,  muscles  of  many  suffer 
from  over-exertion,  p.  56. 


[33^] 


INDEX 


Heine,  Heinrich  (1797-1856), 
German  poet,  his  comment  on 
death,  p.  269. 

Henry  IV  of  France  (1553-16 10), 
"Henry  of  Navarre,"  his  com- 
ment on  death,  p.  266. 

' '  He  who  has  a  taste  for  every  sort 
of  knowledge,"  etc.,  Plato's 
definition  of  a  philosopher, 
p.  102. 

Highways  of  life,  the  four,  p.  9. 

Historians,  influence  of  certain 
modern  historians  upon  one 
another,  p.  154. 

Historians  of  Greece,  the  three 
greatest,  lived  in  the  same 
period,  p.  153. 

History,  the  early,  of  all  nations 
is  vague  because  of  the  lack  of 
written  records,  p.  106. 

"Hitch  your  wagon  to  a  star" — 
but  not  to  an  ignis  fatuus,  p. 
144. 

Hobby,  choose  one  if  one  has  not 
already  chosen  you,  p.  196. 

Honesty,  undoubtedly  the  best 
business  policy,  but  suscepti- 
ble of  some  flexibility  as  to  its 
interpretation  in  practical 
business  life — more'sthe  pity; 
avocational  labors  are  some- 
what removed  from  this  dan- 
ger, p.  206  seq.;  in  dealing 
with  the  child,  is  the  sine  qua 
non,  but  is  not  so  recognized 
by  most  parents,  p.  233  seq. 

Hope  and  Nemesis,  associated 
symbolically  on  an  altar  by  the 
Greek  sculptor  Eunus,  p.  135. 

Horace  (65-8  B.C.),  Roman 
poet;  quoted  as  to  wealth  and 
happiness,  introducing  chap- 
ter on  "  Gold  versus  Ideals," 
p.  183. 

How  to   Sleep,  chapter  IV,   p. 

59  ^^Q- 
How  to  See  and  Remember,  title 

of  chapter  V,  p.  83  seq. 

How  to  Think,  title  of  chapter 

10 1  seq. 

Work,  title  of  chapter 


VI,  p. 
How  to 

IX,  p 
How  to 


How  to  Die,  title  of  chapter  XVI, 

p.  25s  seq. 
"Human   happiness  .  .   .  seems 

to   consist,"    etc. — Hume,    p. 

193- 

Human  nature,  curiously  uni- 
form at  base;  we  all  like  to  feel 
that  we  have  had  all  normal 
experiences,  p.  221. 

Hume,  David  (1711-1776), 
British  historian  and  philoso- 
pher; quoted  as  to  the  content 
of  happiness,  chapter-heading 
to  "Vocation  versus  Avoca- 
tion," p.  193. 

Hunger,  not  consistent  with 
mental  satisfaction,  p.  21. 

Hunter,  Wm.  (17 18-1783),  Brit- 
ish physician  and  anatomist, 
on  the  pleasures  of  dying, 
p.  269. 

Hutton,  James  (1726-1797), 
British  geologist,  sometimes 
called  the  father  of  modern 
geology.  His  studies  revolu- 
tionized the  views  of  geologists 
as  to  the  great  age  of  the 
earth;  referred  to  as  helping  to 
prepare  the  way  for  Darwin, 
p.  105. 

Huxley, Thomas H.  (1825-1895), 
English  biologist.  Began  life 
as  a  naval  surgeon,  subse- 
quently teacher  of  biology  at 
the  School  of  Mines,  etc.,  Lon- 
don; his  definition  of  a  prop- 
erly equipped  mind,  p.  14;  his 
defect  of  verbal  memory,  p.  87. 


147  seq. 

Invite  Happiness, 


of  chapter  XV,  p.  241  seq. 


"I  am  rather  disposed  to  say," 
etc. — Plato,  p.  194. 

Iconoclasm,  the  easiest  road  to 
notoriety,  but  often  only  a 
measure  of  narrowness  of 
mind,  pp.  1 16-17. 

Ideas,  revolutionary,  are  but  a 
step  removed  from  the  hum- 
drum ideas  of  common  know- 
ledge, p.  104;  not  necessarily 
good  because  they  are  new, 
p.  117. 

"If  you  have  so  far  mastered 
title  your    appetite,"     etc. — Epic- 

tetus,  p.  19. 

[339] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Ill-health  no  barrier  to  success- 
ful productive  effort,  exam- 
ples in  evidence,  p.  152. 

Illusions,  possible,  should  be 
subjected  to  common-sense 
tests,  p.  142. 

Indigestion,  how  fostered  in 
America,  p.  27. 

Individual,  the,  versus  the  race, 
as  regards  the  effects  of  suffer- 
ing, p.  7. 

Individual  peculiarities  as  to 
number  of  hours  of  sleep  re- 
quired, p.  70. 

Influence,  mutual,  of  genius 
upon  genius,  illustrated  by 
suggestive  examples  from  va- 
rious fields,  pp.  153-4. 

Inherited  ideas,  advice  as  to  their 
close  scrutiny,  p.  1 1 7  seq. 

Inhibition  of  action,  a  chief 
function  of  the  will,  p.  124. 

Initial  energy,  the  great  need  of 
the  procrastinator,  p.  149. 

Innovations,  of  the  would-be 
reformer,  are  usually  found  to 
be  of  antique  origin,  p.  143. 

Insomnia,  often  the  open  door  to 
insanity,  p.  6 1 ;  practical  expe- 
dients for  warding  it  off,  p.  74 
seq. 

Instability  of  will-power,  its  pen- 
alties, with  a  familiar  example, 
p.  127  seq. 

Intellectual  needs  of  different 
minds  met  by  different  books, 
p.  109. 

"Intending"  the  mind,  great  dis- 
coveries made  through  per- 
sistent conscious  effort  in  a 
given  direction,  examples  of 
Newton,  Harvey,  Jenner,  and 
Darwin,  p.  112. 

Interest,  the  basis  of  attention, 
which  underlies  and  deter- 
mines good  memorizing,  p.  89. 

Interest  and  repetition,  cited  as 
the  keys  to  memory-develop- 
ment, p.  98. 

"In  this  case  also  the  war  is 
against  two  enemies,"  etc. — 
Plato,  p.  184. 

Intuitive  knowledge,  Beecher's 
seeming,  explained,  p.  103. 

[340] 


"Irresistible  power  of  great 
wealth,"  etc.,  quotation  from 
Epictetus  as  chapter-heading 
for  "Self-Knowledge,"  p.  133. 

Italian  literature,  its  greatest 
monuments  produced  in  a  sin- 
gle epoch,  p.  153. 

"  It  is  easy  in  the  world  to  live," 
etc. — Emerson,  p.  241, 

Jenner,  Edward  (1749-1823). 
English  physician,  famous  for 
his  demonstration  of  the  pre- 
ventive power  of  vaccination, 
and  hence  one  of  the  greatest 
of  benefactors  of  humanity; 
his  method  explained,  p.  106. 
p.  112. 

Jortin.  John  (1698-1770),  Eng- 
lish church  historian,  charac- 
terization of  the  evils  of  sud- 
denly acquired  wealth,  pp. 
186-87. 

Judgment,  the  all-importance  of, 
as  a  prerequisite  to  the  proper 
selection  of  materials  for  men- 
tal pabulum,  and  to  success  in 
practical  life,  p.  113  seq.;  ad- 
monitions as  to  its  practical 
cultivation,  p.  114  seq.;  differ- 
entiated from  volition,  p.  126. 

Justice,  Epicurus  on,  p.  10;  the 
practice  of,  connotes  all  the 
virtues,  p.  264  seq. 

Kant,  Immanuel  (1724— 1804), 
German  philosopher;  his  syste- 
matic habits  of  arising  cited, 
p.  131. 

King  Discontent,  the  great  mas- 
ter-builder of   civilization,   p. 

'39- 
Knowledge,  seemingly  intuitive, 

explained,  p.  103;    how  to  use 

that  acquired  from  books,  p. 

Ill  seq. 
Koran,  the,  learned  by  heart  by 

the     average     Mohammedan, 

p.  94. 

Lamarck,  Jean  B.  (i 744-1829), 
French  biologist;  the  cham- 
pion of  evolution  fifty  years 
before  Darwin,  p.  105. 


INDEX 


Languages,  the  acquisition  of, 
method  of  Heinrich  Schlie- 
mann,  p.  94  seq. 

Law,  the  psychological,  under- 
lying the  development  of  a 
good  memory,  pp.  88-9. 

Lazy  minds  give  themselves  the 
excuse  that  pampering  condi- 
tions are  needed;  the  true 
worker  learns  to  work  any  time 
and  anywhere,  p.  152. 

Leibnitz,  Gottfried  (1646- 17 16), 
German  philosopher,  his  expe- 
dient to  aid  the  memory,  p. 85; 
his  whimsical  maxim  regard- 
ing marriage,  p.  218. 

Library  and  gymnasium,  no  real 
rivalry  between,  p.  45. 

Life,  its  main  course,  p.  8;  the 
rational  goal  of,  p.  9. 

Life  Companionship,  title  of 
chapter  XIII,  p.  211  seq. 

Limitations,  individual,  of  mind 
and  body,  must  be  recognized, 

P-  135- 

"Live  well  with  all  the  world," 
etc. ,  reply  of  Aristippus  when 
asked  what  philosophy  had 
taught  him,  p.  102. 

Living,  the  art  of,  its  true  doc- 
trines, p.  1 7 ;  is  but  a  prepara- 
tion for  dying,  p.  257. 

Logical  guesses  versus  intuitional 
knowledge,  p.  104. 

Lucian  (ca.  120-ca.  200  A.D.), 
quoted  as  to  the  wealth  of 
mind,  p.  82. 

"Luck,"  usually  a  misnomer  as 
applied  to  human  affairs :  ' '  un- 
lucky," properly  interpreted, 
usually  means  lacking  in  judg- 
ment, p.  1 14. 

Lucretius  (96-55  B.  C),  Roman 
poet,  disciple  of  Epicurus,  and 
the  most  famous  ancient  ex- 
positor of  his  system,  quoted 
as  to  the  rules  of  true  reason 
and  a  contented  mind,  p.  4; 
quoted  to  the  effect  that  "one 
man's  food  is  another's  poi- 
son," chapter-heading  for 
"  Physical  Needs,"  p.  20. 

Lyell,  Charles  (1797-187 5),  Eng- 
lish geologist,  the  great  cham- 


pion of  uniformitarianism, 
referred  to  as  heljiing  to  pre- 
pare the  way  for  Darwin,  p. 
105. 

Macaulay,  Thomas  Babington 
( 1 800-1 859),  English  critic, 
historian,  and  statesman;  his 
extraordinary  memory,  p.  85; 
despite  his  genius,  he  worked 
for  weeks  on  a  single  review 
article,  p.  155. 

Machine,  the  bodily,  should  it  be 
well  or  ill  regulated  ?  p.  38. 

Mammon-worship,  as  viewed  by 
Theognis,  the  Greek,  p.  186. 

Mammon,  "no  man  is  all  his  life 
a  scoffer  before  the  shrine  of," 
p.  189. 

Marcus  Aurelius  (121-180  A.  D.), 
Roman  emperor  1 61-180  A.D. 
often  cited  as  almost  the  only 
example  in  history  of  Plato's 
ideal,  the  philosopher  upon  a 
throne;  quoted  as  to  the  con- 
tent of  happiness,  p.  3 ;  happi- 
ness defined  by,  p.  121. 

Marriage,  why  so  permanent  an 
institution,  p.  214  seq. 

Marriageable  age,  the,  discussed, 
with  comment  on  the  restric- 
tion imposed  by  the  slow  de- 
velopment of  human  offspring, 
p.  213  seq. 

Marriage-partner,  the  choice  of, 
not  to  be  left  altogether  to 
unguided  instinct,  p.  222 
seq. 

Martial  (43-ca.  104  A.D.),  Ro- 
man writer;  quoted  as  to  the 
double  enjoyment  of  a  well- 
lived  life,  p.  182. 

Matrimony,  versus  a  "career," 
with  particular  reference  to 
ambitious  youths  of  both 
sexes,  p.  215  seq.;  a  premium 
put  on  by  Augustus  in  imperial 
Rome,  p.  217;  should  not  be 
too  long  delayed,  in  the  inter- 
est of  mutual  adaptation — a 
key  to  conjugal  happiness,  p. 
2 1 8  seq. 

Meat-eating,  dangers  of  its  ex- 
cess, p.  24. 


[341] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Melancholia,  in  certain  forms  of, 
the  patient  scarcely  sleeps  at 
all  for  weeks  together,  p.   73. 

Memory,  a  tangible  evidence  of 
mental  power,  p.  85;  the,  of 
the  average  man  contrasted 
with  exceptional  memories, 
p.  86;  of  the  average  individ- 
ual greatly  injured  through  the 
introduction  of  printing,  p.  86; 
extraordinary,  examples  of, 
pp.  85,  86,  87;  newspaper 
reading  develops  slip-shod 
reading  and  facile  forgetting, 
pp  87-8;  possibilities  of  its 
development,  p.  88;  that  of 
the  average  waiter  is  devel- 
oped to  its  normal  limits  in  one 
direction,  pp.  88-89;  how  it 
may  be  cultivated,  p.  90  seq.; 
possibilities  of  its  development , 
p.  93  seq.;  extraordinarily  de- 
veloped in  cases  of  Sherwood 
the  musician,  Pillsbury  the 
chess  master,  and  Asa  Gray  the 
botanist,  p.  93;  of  the  average 
Brahman,  p.  94;  the  extraor- 
dinary, of  Heinrich  Schlie- 
mann,  p.  94  seq.;  the  memory 
of  the  adult  versus  that  of  the 
child,  pp.  98-9. 

Memory-development,  as  prac- 
tised by  Heinrich  Schliemann, 
p.  94  seq. ;  clo.sing  admonitions 
as  to,  p.  99. 

"Memory  and  oblivion,"  quota- 
tion from  the  Greek  Anthol- 
ogy, p.  83. 

Menage,  Gilles  (1613-1692),  his 
curious  reason  for  not  read- 
ing Moreri's  Dictionary,  p.  86. 

' '  Men  err  in  their  choice  of  good 
and  evil,"  etc.,  quotation  from 
Plato,  p.  84. 

Mental  Aspect  of  the  Problem  of 
Happiness,  general  title  of 
Part  n,  comprising  these 
chapters :  How  to  See  and  Re- 
member, p.  83  seq.;  How  to 
Think,  p.  10 1  seq.;  The  Will 
and  the  Way,  p.  121  seq.; 
Self-Knowledge,  p.  133  seq. 

Mental  action,  in  itself  a  source 
of  profound  pleasure,  p.  251. 

[34 


Mental  athletics,  importance  of, 
p.  16. 

Mental  bias,  admonitions  as  to 
emancipation  from,  p.  117  seq. 

Mental  development,  tends  to 
keep  pace  with  physical  de- 
velopment, p.  53. 

Mental  discipline,  through  re- 
tracing one's  thoughts,  and 
"intending"  the  mind,  p.  112. 

Mental  languor,  often  induced  by 
the  habit  of  dozing  at  the  end 
of  the  sleep  period,  p.  79. 

Mental  perspective,  how  ex- 
plained, its  importance,  p.  166. 

Mental  vigor,  how  influenced  by 
physical  exercise,  p.  51. 

Mental  vision,  examples  of  de- 
fective, p.  92. 

Mezzofanti,  Guiseppe  (1774- 
1849),  Italian  linguist;  knew 
fifty-eight  languages;  a  sugges- 
tion from  his  experience,  p. 
180. 

Michelangelo  and  Leonardo  were 
tireless  workers;  so  were  most 
other  masters  of  the  olden 
day,  p.  155  seq. 

Middle  ages,  dogmatic  prudery' 
of,  as  opposed  to  the  right  es- 
timate of  pleasure   p.  12. 

Milton,  "the  mute  inglorious" 
deservedly  forgotten,  the 
voiceful,  glorious  Milton, 
known  by  his  works,  is  remem- 
bered; justice  of  the  verdict, 

P-  139- 
Mind,  the,  should  be  "a  cold, 
clear  logic  engine,"  p.  14;  a 
marvellously  accurate  alarm- 
clock  after  good  habits  of 
sleeping  are  acquired,  77;  of 
the  child,  opinionated  as  to 
school  tasks,  which  it  resents, 
to  its  disadvantage,  p.  98;  its 
seemingly  intuitive  acquisi- 
tion of  knowledge,  p.  103;  to 
become  an  efficient  thinking- 
machine,  must  be  properly 
fed,  p.  106;  its  only  direct 
function  through  which  it  can 
make  itself  manifest  objec- 
tively is  the  stimulation  of 
muscula.r  contraction,  p.  124; 

2] 


INDEX 


some  people  assume  an  atti- 
tude of  mind  that  repels 
happiness,  cultivate  yourself 
away  from  such  an  attitude. 
p.  246;  the  rudder  of.  other- 
wise the  will,  p.  123  seq. 

Minds,  the  greatest  like  the  least, 
are  earth-born  and  earth- 
bound,  p.  104. 

Misery,  as  an  incentive  to  work, 
Schliemann's  opinion  concern- 
ing. P-  95 

Mohammedan,  the  average, 
learns  the  Koran  by  heart,  p. 

94- 

Montmorency,  Anne  de  (1492- 
1567),  French  marshal,  his 
dying  rebuke  to  a  Cordelier, 
p.  268. 

Moral  Aspect  of  the  Problem  of 
Happiness,  General  title  of 
Part  IV,  comprising  these 
chapters :  Life  Companion- 
ship, p.  211  seq.;  The  Coming 
Generation,  p.  229  seq.;  How 
to  Invite  Happiness,  p.  241 
seq.;    How  to  Die,  p.  255  seq. 

Moral  athletics,  importance  of, 
p.  16. 

Morality,  its  association  with 
healthful  exercise  of  normal 
functions,  p.  12. 

Muscular  system,  need  of  giving 
specific  attention  to,  p.  41; 
its  development  through  use 
and  atrophy  through  disuse, 
p.  41;  its  primary  and  sec- 
ondary functions,  p.  42;  con- 
traction of,  accelerates  the 
flow  of  blood,  p.  42;  contrac- 
tion of,  dependent  upon  nerv- 
ous influence,  p  43;  injury  to, 
affects  secondarily  the  entire 
organism,  including  the  brain, 
p.  43 ;  muscles  of  the  chest  and 
upper  extremities  suffer  most 
from  lack  of  exercise,  p.  48; 
a  simple  method  of  develop- 
ment of,  p.  5 1 ;  dangers  of  its 
over-stimulation,  p.  56. 

Muscular  development,  sym- 
metrical, its  standards  of  meas- 
urement, p.  49;  how  best 
attained,  p.  49  seq. 


Musing,  idle,  an  undesirable 
mental  habit,  p.  1 1  i. 

Nitrogenous  foods,  caution  as  to 
their  excessive  use,  especially 
for  persons  of  sedentary  habits , 
p.  24. 

"No  evil  can  happen,"  etc. — 
Socrates,  p.  256. 

Non  dies  sine  linea,  the  rule  of 
action  that  has  produced  the 
major  part  of  the  world's  best 
literature,  p.  132. 

Normal  mind,  always  has  cer- 
tain potentialities  of  genius, 
p.  163. 

Now;  the  all-importance  of  the 
present,  p.  150. 

Obesity,  one  cause  of  its  preva- 
lence among  Americans,  p.  27. 

Obstacles,  the  stimulus  of,  p.  7. 

Old  age,  examples  of  men  who 
achieved  great  things  after 
passing  its  threshold ,  p.  172  seq. 

Optimism  versus  pessimism,  p. 
261  seq. 

Organic  beings,  unimportance  of 
the  average  individual  from 
the  standpoint  of  world-prog- 
ress, p   139. 

Organism,  the,  quick  to  acquire 
indolent  habits,  p.  79. 

Out-door  sports,  golf,  rowing, 
and  riding  are  among  the  best, 
P-  53- 

Pagan  renderings  of  the  Golden 
Rule;  quotation  from  Seneca, 
p.  146;  quotation  from  Aris- 
totle, p.  210. 

Pain,  its  purpose,  p.  6;  its  ces- 
sation causes  positive  pleasure, 
p.  8. 

Palate,  pleasures  of,  p.  25  seq. 

Palladas.  apostrophy  to  gold, 
p.  188. 

Parents,  often  instil  the  germs 
of  superstition  into  the  minds 
of  their  children,  with  perma- 
nent detriment,  p.  234  seq. 

Parenthood,  a  privilege,  but  not 
so  regarded  at  first  by  most 
parents-to-be,  p.  232. 


[343] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF  HAPPINESS 


Part  II,  Mental  Aspects  of  the 
Problem  of  Happiness,  p.  8i 
seq.   comprising. 

Past  labors  are  pleasant,  p.  163. 

Pentathlon,  the,  of  the  Greeks, 
(running,  jumping,  discus- 
throwing,  hurling  the  javelin, 
and  wrestling),  p.  54. 

Perception,  vivid,  as  the  basis  of 
good  memory,  p.  89. 

Perceptive  faculties,  defectively 
developed  in  the  ordinary  in- 
dividual, p.  91. 

Peregrinos:  '"  The  wise  man  will 
not  sin,"  etc.,  chapter  head- 
ing for  "  How  to  Invite  Hap- 
piness," p.  242. 

Personal  happiness,  its  seeking  a 
duty,  p.  8. 

Personality,  the  well-rounded,  is 
enviable,  p.  12. 

Pessimist,  the,  likely  to  be  a  dis- 
agreeable neighbor,  p.  263. 

Philosopher,  the,  as  defined  or 
characterized  by  Plato,  p.  102. 

Philosopher's  stone,  a  modified, 
within  the  reach  of  every 
normal  individual  who  will 
sedulously  strive  after  it,  p. 
178  seq. 

Philosophers  of  Greece,  Plato  the 
disciple  of  Socrates  and  Aris- 
totle the  disciple  of  Plato,  p. 

153- 

Philosophical  systems,  all  seek 
the  goal  of  happiness,  p.  12. 

Philosophy,  often  misjudged  by 
the  world,  p.  11;  the  mediae- 
val, which  deplored  worldly 
pleasure,  its  persistent  in- 
fluence, p.  9;  what  it  teaches, 
according  to  Aristippus,  p. 
102;  of  Herbert  Spencer, 
characterized,    p.     no. 

Photography  as  a  means  of  rec- 
reation, p.  203-4. 

Phy.sical  health,  persons  desiring 
may  well  seek  aid  of  the  mus- 
cular system,  p.  43. 

Physical  strength,  of  the  race,  as 
affected  by  gunpowder,  p.  45. 

Phy.sical  development,  the  de- 
gree of  it  desirable  as  an  aid  to 
health,  p.  48;   simplicity  of  its 


essential  principles,  p.  50; 
a  practical  means  of,  suggest- 
ed, p.  50;  the  precursor  of 
mental  development,  p.  53. 

Physical  Aspects  of  the  Problem 
of  Happiness,  General  title  of 
Part  I,  comprising  these  chap- 
ters: The  Problem  of  Happi- 
ness, p.  3  seq.;  Physical 
Needs,  p.  19  seq.;  Sound 
Bodies,  p.  39  seq.;  How  to 
Sleep,  p.  59  seq. 

Physical  exercises  and  games 
will  not  serve  the  purposes  of 
a  hobby  for  all,  p.  197. 

Physical  habits  and  their  mental 
counterpart,  p.  130  seq. 

Physical  needs,  chapter  on. 
p.  21  seq. 

Pillsbury,  Harry  (1872-1906), 
American  chess  master,  could 
play  twenty  blindfold  games 
of  chess  while  simultaneously 
playing  duplicate  whist,  p.  93. 

Plato  (429—347  B.C.).  Greek  phi- 
losopher, quoted  as  to  brutal 
or  irrational  pleasure,  p.  20; 
quoted  as  to  the  training  and 
education  of  children,  p.  40; 
quoted  as  to  the  departments 
of  education,  p.  58;  quoted 
concerning  the  body  as  a 
source  of  trouble  and  dis- 
quietude, p.  58;  quoted  to  the 
effect  that  not  much  sleep  is 
needed,  p.  60;  quoted  as  to  the 
choice  of  good  and  evil,  p.  84; 
quoted  as  to  the  relationship 
of  wisdom,  virtue,  and  "true 
and  abiding  pleasure,"  p.  120; 
quoted  as  to  wealth  and  pov- 
erty, p.  184;  quoted,  a  hedo- 
nistic doctrine,  chapter-head- 
ing to  Vocation  versus  Avoca- 
tion, p.  194. 

Pleasure,  its  direct  and  indirect 
pursuit,  p.  5;  its  paths  curi- 
ously devious,  p.  6;  in  the  con- 
templation of  past  achieve- 
ment, p.  163;  of  the  palate, 
p.  25  seq. 

Pleasure-Seeker,  the  avowed, 
looked  at  askance,  p.  10. 

Pliny,    the   elder    (23-79  A.D.), 


[344] 


INDEX 


Roman  naturalist,  his  mode  of 
work  described  by  his  nephew, 
PHny  the  younger,  p.  157. 

Pliny,  the  younger  (62-1 13  A.D.) 
his  method  of  work,  choosing 
the  early  morning  hours,  and 
composmg  in  the  dark,  p.  151; 
quoted  as  to  the  rewards  of 
virtue,  p.  164. 

Plodder,  the  mental,  follows  the 
same  lines  of  progress  as  the 
man  of  genius,  p.  104. 

Plutarch,  quoted  as  to  the  sen- 
tences inscribed  upon  the 
Delphic  oracle,  p.  134;  quoted 
as  to  the  measure  of  a  man's 
life,  p.  182. 

Poe,  Edgar  Allan  (i 809-1 849), 
American  poet  and  story 
writer  of  the  foremost  rank, 
the  text  refers  to  his  exposi- 
tion of  the  manner  and  method 
of  writing  "The  Raven,"  his 
most  famous  poem,  p.   112. 

Poets,  influence  of  one  upon 
another  suggested  by  grouping 
into  schools  and  appearance  in 
great  productive  periods,  pp. 

153-4.  . 

Poetry,  its  foundation  in  know- 
ledge, even  the  most  "in- 
spired" imaginings  are  found- 
ed on  wide  reading  and  calm 
thinking,  p.  112. 

Porter,     Jane  (1776-1850), 

quoted,  chapter-heading  for 
"Life  Companionship,"  p.  212. 

Prejudice,  founded  on  inheri- 
tance or  the  influences  of  en- 
vironment, caution  regarding 
its  perverting  influence,  p. 
1 1 7  seq. 

Prisse  Papyrus,  the  so-called 
oldest  book  in  the  world;  its 
paradoxical  plaint  about  the 
degeneration  from  the  good 
old  times,  p.  143. 

Problem,  the,  of  happiness, 
chapter  on,  pp.  5-18. 

Procrastination,  the  vice  of  con- 
templative minds,  p.  149. 

Psychological  law,  the,  under- 
lying the  development  of  a 
good  memory,  pp.   88-9. 

[345] 


Punching-bag,  a  fair  .substitute 
for  a  sparring-partner,  p.   54. 

Pythagoras,  the  "Golden 
Words"  of,  quoted  as  to  the 
care  for  the  health  of  the  body, 
chapter-heading  for  "Sound 
Bodies,"  p.  39. 

Queen  Victoria,  of  England 
(1819-1901),  began  the  study 
of  Hindustani  at  eighty,  p. 
98. 
Quotations  used  as  suggestive 
headings  or  texts: 
Part  I,  quotation  from  Plato, 

p.  2; 
Part   II,   quotation  from   Lu- 

cian,  p.  82; 
Part  III,  quotation  from  Sen- 
eca, p.  146; 
Part     IV,     quotations     from 
Plato  and  Diogenes  Laertius, 
p.  210. 
Quotations     used     as     chapter- 
headings  : 
Chapt.  I,  Marcus  Aurelius,  p. 

3.  Lucretius,  p.  4; 
Chapt.   II,    Epictetus,    p.    19. 

Plato  and  Lucretius  p.  20; 
Chapt.  Ill,  Pythagoras,  p.  39, 
Plato,  p.  40,  Plato  and   Soc- 
rates   (in  Plato's  Pha'do),  p. 

58; 

Chapt.  I\\  Pythagoras,  p.  59, 
Plato,  p.  60; 

Chapt.  V,  The  Greek  Antholo- 
gy, p.  83,  Plato,  p.  84,  Soc- 
rates (in  Plato's  Phcedo),  p. 
100; 

Chapter  VI.  WiUiam  Forbes,  p. 
10 1 ;  Aristippus  and  Plato, 
p.  102,  Plato,  p    120; 

Chapt.  VII,  Marcus  Aurelius, 
p.  121,  Emerson,  p.  122; 

Chapter  VIII,  Epictetus,  p. 
133,  Plutarch,  p.  134; 

Chapt.  IX,  Colton,  p.  147, 
Emerson,  p.  148,  Pliny  the 
younger,  p.  164; 

Chapt.  X,  Seneca,  p.  165, 
Francis  Bacon,  p.  166,  Plu- 
tarch and  Martial,  p.  18*2; 

Chapt.  XI,  Horace,  p.  183, 
Emerson  and  Plato,  p.  184; 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Chapt.  XII    David  Hume,  p. 

193,  Plato,  p.  194; 
Chapt    XIII,  John  Boyle,  p. 

211,  Jane  Porter,  p.  212; 
Chapt.   XIV,   Bulwer  Lytton, 

p.  229,  Emerson,  p.  230; 
Chapt.  XV,  Emerson,  p.  241; 

Peregrines,  p.  242; 
Chapt.     XVI,     Epictetus,     p. 

255,  Socrates  and  Plato,  p. 

256. 

"  Read  more  and  write  less,"  etc., 
saying  of  Win.  Forbes,  p.  10 1. 

Reading,  the  art  of,  its  vast  and 
all-compassing  importance  as 
an  aid  to  thinking,  p.  106  seq. 

Records,  written,  are  essential  to 
accurate  history,  history 
proper  does  not  antedate  the 
origin  of  the  art  of  writing,  p. 
107. 

Recreation,  out-of-door,  may 
lead  to  an  interest  in  Nature- 
studies,  p.  200. 

Reforms,  valid  and  visionary, 
admonishment  not  to  mistake 
the  mango-tree  of  a  conjurer 
for  an  actuality,  p.  142. 

Regret  for  past  mistakes,  the 
futility  of,  learn  from  your 
mistakes,  but  waste  no  time 
crying  over  spilled  milk,  pp. 
149-50. 

Regularity  of  sleeping  a  prime 
essential,  p.  71. 

Repetition,  as  an  aid  to  mem- 
orizing, p.  97. 

Repetition  and  Interest,  cited  as 
the  keys  to  memory-develop- 
ment, p.  98. 

Resolutions,  futility  of,  if  not 
supported  by  stable  will- 
power, p.  127. 

Responsibilities  of  parenthood, 
not  all  marriageable  persons 
are  fitted  for,  p.  231. 

Revolutionizing  ideas  are  but  a 
step  in  advance  of  ideas  that 
fail  to  revolutionize,  p.  104. 

Rheumatic  disorders,  free  drink- 
ing of  water  a  useful  remedy 
for,  p.  30. 

Right  living,  the  individual  ap- 


plication of  its  rules  is  the 
desideratuin,  p.  18. 

Rig-Veda,  the  10,000  verses  of, 
are  committed  to  memory  by 
the  average  Brahman,  p.  94. 

Roman  literature,  great  figures 
grouped  into  two  periods,  p.  1 53. 

Romantic  love  versus  reason,  as 
applied  to  the  choice  of  a  mar- 
riage-partner, p.  224  seq. 

Rudder  of  the  mind,  the,  the 
will  defined  as  having  a  rud- 
der-like function,  p.  123. 

Satiety,  said  by  Theognis  to  kill 
more  than  famine,  p.  26. 

Schliemann,  Heinrich  (1822- 
1 890) ,  German  man  of  business 
and  archaeologist,  his  own  ac- 
count of  his  feats  of  memory- 
development,  p.  94  seq.;  took 
up  the  study  of  Greek  when 
thirty-five,  p.  98. 

Schooling,  its  chief  ultimate 
purpose  is  to  develop  stability 
of  volition  rather  than  to  give 
specific  knowledge,  p.  129. 

School-room  tests  of  capacity, 
not  necessarily  final  in  their 
verdict  as  to  capacity  of  any 
individual  to  succeed  in  the 
life-tasks,  p.  137. 

Schools,  the  teaching  of  the  phy- 
siology of  breathing,  and  its 
probable  benefit,  p.  32;  of 
workers,  sundry  examples  of, 
suggesting  the  influence  of  ex- 
ample, pp.  153-4. 

Science,  applied  to  the  pursuit  of 
happiness,  p.  9. 

Scientific  training,  its  true  value 
lies  in  the  development  of 
logical  methods  of  thinking, 
rather  than  in  the  acquisition 
of  specific  knowledge,  p.   115. 

"Second  nature"  of  fixed  habits 
of  action  that  at  first  were 
difficult,  p.  162. 

Selection,  the,  of  materials  pre- 
sented to  the  mind,  the  need 
of  right  selection  as  an  aid  to 
the  acquisition  of  good  habits 
and  enlarged  capacities  of 
thinking,  p.  1 13. 


[346] 


INDEX 


Self -analysis,  habitual,  a  vicious 
habit,  to  be  avoided,  p.  140. 

Self-confidence,  one  of  the  great 
keys  to  success,  p.  141. 

Self-culture,  anecdotal  illustra- 
tions of  its  possibilities,  p.  159 
seq. 

Self-education,  its  goal  and 
method,  p.  130. 

Self-knowledge,  title  of  chapter 
VIII,  p.  133  seq.;  its  desira- 
bility and  the  method  of  at- 
taining it,  p.  136  seq. 

Seneca,  Roman  statesman  and 
author,  quoted  as  to  the  proper 
relations  of  superior  and  in- 
ferior— a  Pagan  rendering  of 
the  Golden  Rule,  p.  146; 
quoted  as  to  the  employment 
of  time,  to  introduce  chapter 
X,  "Youth  versus  Age,"  p. 
165;  on  the  paraphernalia  of 
the  death-bed,  p.  269. 

Sensitive  minds,  their  seemingly 
intuitive  asquisition  of  know- 
ledge, p.  103. 

Sleep,  mental  process  during,  not 
entirely  in  abeyance,  p.  13. 

Sleep,  seemingly  negative  in 
character,  yet  susceptible  of 
being  improperly  indulged, 
with  serious  results,  p.  61; 
how  much  is  required  by  the 
normal  individual  ?  Franklin's 
answer  to  the  question,  p.  62; 
individual  difference  as  to  the 
number  of  hours  required,  p. 
62;  slovenly  habits  of  sleeping 
are  common,  p.  63;  most  pro- 
found about  two  hours  after 
losing  consciousness,  pp.  63- 
4;  mistaken  notion  that  it  is 
deepest  just  before  waking, 
p.  64;  explained  as  the  time 
for  repair  of  brain  tissues,  p. 
65;  the  dream-state,  p.  66; 
sounds  that  recur  at  regular 
intervals  cease  to  disturb  the 
sound  sleeper,  p.  69;  how  the 
sleep  of  the  adult  may  be  made 
to  approximate  that  of  normal 
boyhood,  p.  69;  suggestions 
for  the  acquisition  of  good 
habits  of  sleeping,  p.  70  seq.; 


advisability  of  securing  enough 
sleep  at  all  hazards,  p.  70; 
time  for,  no  longer  fixed  by 
the  normal  hours  of  a  di- 
urnal animal,  thanks  to 
artificial  light,  p.  71;  regular 
hours  for,  are  more  important 
than  the  exact  location  of  the 
hours,  p.  71;  desirability  of 
acquiring  the  habit  of  retiring 
at  a  fixed  and  unvarying  hour, 
p.  72;  expedients  for  banish- 
ing consciousness  on  retiring, 
p.  73  seq.;  physical  expedient 
calculated  to  ward  off  insom- 
nia, p.  74;  normal  sleepers 
awaken  spontaneously  at  a 
fixed  hour,  determined  by 
habit,  p.  77;  the  test  of  suffi- 
cient, is  to  awaken  refreshed, 
p.  78;  dozing  in  the  morning 
is  disadvantageous,  but  a 
brief  mid-day  nap  may  be 
useful,  p.  80;  likened  to 
death,  p.  269  seq. 
Slovenly   thinking,  penalties  of, 

P-  15- 
Smith,      William      (i  769-1839), 

English  paleontologist,  the 
first  to  demonstrate  the  suc- 
cessions of  population  of  the 
geological  strata,  referred  to 
as  helping  to  prepare  the  way 
for  Darwin,  p.  105. 

Smokers  of  tobacco,  mostly  pre- 
fer that  their  sons  should 
abstain,  p.  36. 

' '  So  live  with  your  inferior,"  etc. , 
quotation  from  Seneca,  to  in- 
troduce Part  III,  Social  As- 
pects of  the  Problem  of  Happi- 
ness, p.  146. 

Social  Aspects  of  the  Problem  of 
Happmess,  general  title  of 
Part  III,  comprising  these 
chapters:  How  to  Work,  p. 
147  seq.;  Youth  vensus  Age, 
p.  165  seq.;  Gold  versus  Ideals, 
p.  183  seq.;  Vocation  versus 
Avocation,  p.    193   seq. 

Socrates  (c.  470-399  B.C.),  Greek 
philosopher;  quoted  (as  cited 
by  Plato  in  the  Phcedo) ,  as 
to  the  singular  relationship  of 


[347] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


pleasure  and  pain,  p.  2 ;  quoted 
(from  Plato's  Phsdo) ,  on  the 
body  as  a  source  of  trouble, 
p.  58;  (in  Plato's  Phcedo), 
quoted  as  to  the  value  of  wis- 
dom, p.  100. 

Socrates  and  Plato,  quoted 
about  death,  chapter-heading 
to  "How  to  Die,"  p.  256. 

Solacers  of  appetite,  tea,  coffee, 
alcoholic  beverages,  and  to- 
bacco, p.  ^2  seq. 

Sound  bodies,  advice  of  Pythag- 
oras concerning,  p.  39;  title 
of  chapter  III,  p.  39  seq. 

Spencer,  Herbert  (1820-1903), 
British  philosopher,  whose 
writings  began  to  expound  a 
doctrine  of  evolution  before  the 
publication  of  Darwin's  "  Ori- 
gin of  Species;"  comment  on 
his  alleged  avoidance  of  read- 
ing, p.  IIO-II. 

Sports,  physical,  healthy  boy 
takes  to  them  naturally,  p.  47; 
competitive,  their  value  in 
stimulating  physical  devel- 
opinent,  p.  52;  athletic,  not- 
withstanding their  benefits, 
may  become  vicious  if  pur- 
sued too  persistently,  p.  56. 

Stability  of  will,  an  example  of 
its  value,  p.  127-8. 

Stanton,  Elizabeth  Cady  (181 5- 
1902),  American  lecturer,  be- 
gan study  of  music  at  seventy, 
p.  98. 

Stephenson,  Robert  Louis  ( 

),  British  man  of  letters, 
cited  as  having  achieved  suc- 
cess through   infinite    toil,    p. 

155- 
Stomach,  normal  person  should 

have  an  empty  stomach  on 
retiring,  p.  76. 

Stone,  Edmund,  British  math- 
ematician, anecdote  concern- 
ing, to  show  the  possibilities 
of  self-culture,  p.  160. 

Struggle  for  existence,  less  and 
less  a  physical  struggle,  p.  46; 
more  difficult  but  also  more 
fascinating  in  the  centres  of 
population,  p.   138. 


Success,  largely  dependent  upon 
stability  of  will-power,  p.  123; 
attained  in  one  direction  usu- 
ally implies  capacity  to  suc- 
ceed in  other  directions  as 
well,  p.  137;  if  it  fails  to  come 
before  middle  age,  may  it  be 
attained  later?  167  seq. 

Successful  men,  the  value  of 
their  example,  if  properly  in- 
terpreted, p.  114;  often  make 
mistakes,  but  recover  from 
them  quickly,  and  learn  from 
experience,  p.  142. 

Suffering,  its   universality,  p.   6. 

Superstition,  how  instilled  into 
the  minds  of  children,  unwit- 
tingly, by  parents,  p.  234  seq. 

Sympathetic  books  compared  to 
human  companions,  p.  109. 

Synthetic  mind,  the,  its  capacity 
to  reason,  p.  104. 

Tea  and  Coffee,  more  harmful 
than  often  supposed,  pp. 
35-36;  non-u.se  of  by  athletes 
in  training,  p.  37. 

Thackeray,  Wm.  M.  (1811-1863) 
English  novelist  and  humorist, 
his  habit  of  precise  thinking, 
p.  14. 

Thales,  one  of  the  earliest  of 
Greek  philosophers,  the  max- 
im "know  thyself,"  here  as- 
cribed to  Thales,  has  been 
ascribed  also  to  sundry  other 
of  the  wise  men  of  antiquity; 
the  maxim  elucidated,  p.  136. 

"The  care  to  live  well,"  etc. — 
Epictetus,  p.  255. 

The  Coming  Generation,  title  of 
chapter     XIV,     p.     229     seq. 

' '  The  exchange  of  one  fear, ' '  etc. , 
quotation  from  Socrates,  p. 
100. 

"The  good  man  prolongs  his 
life,"  etc. — Martial,  p.  182. 

"The  man  of  understanding," 
etc.,  quotation  from  Plato,  p. 
20. 

"The  manly  part,"  etc.,  quota- 
tion from  Emerson,  used  as  a 
chapter-heading  for  "How  to 
Work,"  p.  148. 


[348] 


INDEX 


"The  measure  of  a  man's  life," 
etc..  quotation  from  Plutarch, 
p.  182. 

The  Problem  of  Happiness  and 
its  Physical  Aspects,  see  Phy- 
sical Aspects  of  the  Problem 
of  Happiness. 

"The  wealth  of  mind,"  etc., 
quotation  from  Lucian,  p.  82. 

The  Will  and  the  Way,  title  of 
chapter  VII,  p.  121  scq. 

"The  wise  man  will  not  sin," 
etc.,  quotation  from  Pere- 
grinos,  p.  243. 

Theognis  (6th  Century  B.C.), 
Greek  philosopher,  quoted  to 
the  effect  that  satiety  kills 
more  than  famine,  p.  26. 

Theophrastus,  lamented  at  107 
years  that  he  must  die,  p.  267. 

"There  is  a  great  difference  be- 
tween one  who  is  learned  and 
one  who  is  not,"  etc. — Plato, 
p.  40. 

"There  are  two  sentences  in- 
scribed upon  the  Delphic 
oracle,"  etc..  quotation  from 
Plutarch,  as  chapter-heading 
for  "Self-knowledge,"  p.  134. 

"There  is  a  child  within  us  to 
whom  death,"  etc. — Plato, 
p.  256. 

"There  is  good  reason  to  hope 
that  death  is  a  good" — Soc- 
rates, p.  256. 

"There  is  no  thought  in  any 
mind,  etc.,  quotation  from 
Emerson,  to  introduce  "The 
Will  and  the  Way,"  p.  122. 

"There  is  one  way  of  attaining," 
etc. — Bulwer  Lytton,  p.   229. 

Thinking,  during  sleep,  probably 
continues,  modified  only  in 
degree,  p.  13;  creative,  is 
man's  sublimest  privilege,  p. 
119. 

Thoreau,  Henry  D.  (181 7-1862), 
American  nature-lover,  writer, 
and  philosopher,  his  cynical 
comment  on  human  stupidity, 
p.  15;  quoted  to  the  effect 
that  most  reformers  clip  at  the 
twigs  of  the  tree  of  evil  instead 
of  striking  at  the  root,  p.  142. 


"Those  who  know  not  wisdom 
and  virtue,"  etc..  quotati(jn 
from  Plato,  supplementing 
chapter  on  "How  to  Think," 
p.  120. 

Threshold  of  senility,  not  defi- 
nitely fixed,  but  begins  to  be 
approached  in  the  fifth  dec- 
ade, the  man  who  has  pas.sed 
it  may  .still  be  an  important 
producer,  p.  1 70  seq. 

"Thrice  happy,"  according  to 
Emerson,  is  the  man  born 
with  a  bias  toward  useful 
pursuits,  p.  130. 

"To  be  rich,"  etc. — Emerson, 
p.  184 

Tobacco,  a  contribution  of  the 
western  hemisphere,  p.  7,^; 
most  of  its  habitues  are  prac- 
tically its  slaves,  p.  36;  a 
practical  suggestion  regarding 
its  use,  p.  37;  its  non-use  by 
athletes    in    training,    p.    37. 

Tragedians  of  Greece,  the  three 
greatest,  lived  in  the  same 
epoch,  p.  153. 

Truth,  the  realm  of,  not  a  bar- 
ren land,  but  a  land  of  natural 
miracles,  p.  235. 

Tubercle  bacilli,  danger  from, 
accentuated  by  improper 
breathing,  p.  13. 

Tumebus,  Adrian  (15 12-1565), 
French  critic,  his  tireless  in- 
dustry, p.  156. 

Tumvereins,  motto  of,  "A  sound 
mind  in  a  sound  body,"  a 
valid  one,  p.  44. 

Vaccination,  Jenner's  method  in 
demonstrating  its  preventive 
power  explicated,  pp.  106,  112. 

Vanity  over  personal  traits  of 
body  or  mind,  its  illogicality, 
p.  260. 

Ventilation,  usually  not  con- 
sidered by  builders  or  pur- 
chasers of  private  dwellings, 
p.  30;  inefficient,  may  di.sturb 
sleep  and  cause  dreams,  p.  67. 

Verbal  memory,  examples  of 
extraordinary,  pp.  85,  86; 
Huxley's  defective,  p.  87. 


[349] 


THE   SCIENCE   OF   HAPPINESS 


Versatility  of  effort,  its  dangers 
for  the  receptive  mind,  p.  126. 

Virtue,  all  true  virtue  the  com- 
panion of  wisdom,  according 
to  Socrates,  p.  100;  connote 
with  living  agreeably  accord- 
ing to  Epicurus,  p.  11. 

Vision,  blurred,  and  the  attend- 
ant habit  of  defective  mem- 
orizing, p.  99. 

Visionary  ideas,  how  held  in 
check  by  judgment,  supported 
by  knowledge,  p.  116. 

Vocation  versus  Avocation,  title 
of  chapter  XII,  p.   193  seq. 

Volition  or  will,  the  master 
faculty,  p.  123  seq.;  differen- 
tiated from  judgment,  p.  126. 

Waiter,  an  ordinary,  gives  illus- 
tration of  memory-training 
carried  to  normal  limits  in 
one  direction,  p.  88-9. 

Water,  as  a  food,  p.  29;  its  too 
abstemious  use,  p.  30. 

Webster,  Daniel  (1782- 1852). 
American  statesman,  quick  eye 
and  receptive  brain  of,  p.  91. 

When  to  work,  the  question  con- 
sidered from  various  stand- 
points, p.  150  seq. 

'"Whenever  we  step  out  of  do- 
mestic life,"  etc. — John  Boyle, 
p.  2ir. 

Wild    animals     seldom     die    of 


disease  in  a  state  of  nature, 
P-  47- 

Will,  the  all-importance  of,  p. 
123;  the  inhibitory  functions 
of,  p.  124. 

Will-o'-the-wisp,  not  a  useful 
guiding-star,  scrutiny  of  one's 
ideals  enjoined,  to  guard 
against  illusion,  p.  143. 

Wine,  its  use  by  the  Greeks,  p. 
11;  illusive  belief  in  its  bene- 
fit, p.  35. 

Wisdom,  its  value,  according  to 
Socrates,  p.  100. 

Women,  attire  of,  as  influencing 
breathing,  p.  31. 

Worriment,  as  a  sleep-banisher, 

P-  77- 

Wrestling,  one  of  the  best  gym- 
nasium sports,  pp.  53-54; 
held  in  high  esteem  among  the 
Greeks,  p.  54. 

Writing,  the  art  of,  as  a  pre- 
requisite to  advanced  civili- 
zation, p.  106. 

"You  cannot  properly  call  a 
man  happy,"  etc. — Horace, 
p.  183. 

Youth  versus  Age,  title  of  chap- 
ter X,  p.  165  seq. 

Youthful  vigor,  may  be  retained 
far  past  middle  life,  sugges- 
tions as  to  the  attainment  of 
this  end,  p.  177  seq. 


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